


Diplomacy

by Weiila



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Family Drama, Loving Marriage, Marriage, Politics, Protective Siblings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-11-15 07:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 102,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11226273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weiila/pseuds/Weiila
Summary: Repost of that novel-sized Thrall/Jaina fanfic you might recall from ages ago. Come with me on a blast from the past!There is an age-old trick to estabilish an alliance between two nations, promising lasting peace. However, one must be aware that a union between Horde and Alliance would cause quite a stir. And it does.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay sooo... this is a repost, and I haven't played WoW since 2010 or so, so I'm just going to post it like it is, with no revisions or cares for how canon lore has developed since then. Now, this was written between 2008 and 2011, so here's a short list of things that had not happened when I started writing it:  
> *Varian Wrynn killing Onyxia  
> *Arthas getting fired from his Lich King gig  
> *Aggra  
> *Any news about Deathwing doing his Kool-aid Man thing
> 
> For the timeline, the plot is set towards the middle of the Burning Crusade anyway, so a lot of that doesn't even matter - apart from Onyxia's death. But her head makes a nice conversation piece in Orgrimmar.

Moonlight.

Poets like to think of it as romantic. Jaina thought that those poets had never laid wide awake in the middle of the night, watching the cold white light carve every shadow deep into the familiar items of one's bedroom. It made everything cold and sharp.

Especially the heaps of papers cluttering her desk.

Jaina turned over on her back and stared at the ceiling instead. There was a shadow upon it too, cracked in the middle because of a gap between the curtains. After a while she pressed both palms against her forehead, elbows pointing at the opposite wall, trying to make the buzzing in her head stop.

_Pirates. Ships unjustly sunk soldiers paranoid shooting killing innocents._

_The Crossroads. Raids week after week so many hurt and dead._

_The Shady Rest Inn. Mystery solved, but no closure and what now tensions rising…_

_The Scourge. Arthas' next move when, where, how?_

She groaned and rolled over as each subject swam through and pecked at her mind.

_Outland they say Kael'thas has gone mad it's true-_

_Have to stop the fighting how how when will it escalate?_

Kicking at the blanket, she only managed to twist it around her legs as her nightdress had slid upwards due to hours of tossing and turning. Grumbling, Jaina sat up to sort herself out. At least that was a momentary distraction.

Once free she seated herself more comfortably and leant against the wall. It felt pleasantly cool against her hot forehead, but did little to soothe her thoughts.

_Have to stop the fighting. Those zealous fools won't listen, they have their own excuses._

She fisted the cloth of her nightdress.

Outside, the night remained peaceful. There was a distant sound of marching feet, the familiar sound heartening – the city guardians did not rest.

_But they are as scared as everyone else._

_So kill the fear. Kill the excuses. If there might be a way, why not try it? We have tried everything else._

Taking in a deep breath she shook her head. She had been over this with herself, beating back that one crazy idea growing in the back of her mind. How long had it been there? No… don't go there.

_Impossible._

She kept telling herself that, along with several other select words in protest. Somehow, they sounded more hollow now than they had when she had first chastised herself. And the most alarming part was that she found it difficult to feel disquieted at this failing resistance.

Or was it truly alarming?

Jaina pressed a fist against her lips, trying to sort out her thoughts. The idea made too much sense to her, in its promise. She may have blamed her overheated brain for crazily flailing for hope, but… there was not just hope, but also the full awareness of the teetering problems as well as solutions.

More than a feverish dream. She could make sense of it. But on the other hand, it could probably never be. Even if _she_ could see the possibilities, somebody else would have to as well – and then an awful lot of people would have to be convinced that it was a good idea, most of them who definitely would never think so.

And still she could see how it could possibly be done, over time, if only _he_ would agree with her.

She swallowed and tried to wrestle herself away from that line of thought. No, it could only be a pipe dream. It had to be, for sanity's sake. And still, the thought of him not even agreeing in theory made her feel like choking.

 _No. No, no, no._ _Think of something else. Anything is better than putting myself through this torture._

Why risk losing a dear – _admit it, the_ _dearest_ – friend when there were enough troubles landing in her lap on an almost daily basis? More than enough with the monsters of the swamp and ocean, suspicion towards Brackenwall village, the Crossroads getting attacked by vigilantes, and just over a year ago, a whole new race of people crashing in the north and trying to find their way around this world that was completely new to them. And everybody in this world were still trying to figure out what exactly to make of _them_.

The draenei made no secret of their painful memories of the orcs in former Draenor, but Jaina knew full well what Thrall and his shamans thought of the matter. Would it ever be possible for those two races to reach out to each other again? There was not only that troubled past, however, but the complicated now as well.

_If the draenei begin communicating with the orcs, the Alliance will judge them._

Amazing, really, that the draenei had gotten so far as a place in the Alliance. Deep down in Jaina's heart, a self-loathing voice wondered how long the human kingdoms would be able to handle such inhuman-looking allies. There were well-written, borderline poetical letters lying on Jaina's desk at that very moment, from Tyrande Whisperwind – never anything spoken out loud, but one did not need to read deeply between the lines to see the bitterness. The lone two seats out of seven in the Alliance Assembly was merely the tip of the iceberg – the elves faced small slights in the old world almost daily, and Light knew how the dwarves and gnomes felt. The elves at least _had_ seats in the Assembly. Jaina did not even know if Tyrande bothered sending well-worded complaints across the ocean or if the High Priestess simply turned to a leader she knew as a personal friend.

How long until a letter arrived from Prophet Velen, asking any variation of _Why are your people treating us with such suspicion? We have done everything we can to earn your trust, what are we doing wrong?_

And Jaina would not have an answer, nothing past a weak "humans have gone through a lot, please give them time". Although, perhaps the draenei were prepared for difficulties in acceptance, having fled so far from home and borne witness to such atrocities. Suffered so much.

And now they came here, and hoped for a chance of friendship and peace with people who would not even help each other against a force threatening them all. What a stroke of luck that they crashed so close to Kalimdor, and not the Eastern Kingdoms. At least, when they met with night elves and the people of Theramore, there would be people who remembered alliances with outworldly, humanoid creatures. As long as they could make the night elves understand that they were not the frightening eredar the elves at first thought them to be.

Jaina truly wished to believe that her people knew what it meant to join hands with other races against a common foe. They had done it before. And, recently…

She smiled slightly, the buzz subsiding. Even now, a couple of weeks after the fact, one could feel a sense of confusion and grumbling gratitude in the air.

Panic at first, when the news came of the discovery of Onyxia in Stormwind, and her furious flight – into her lair in Dustwallow. But then, on the very day when a troop of Stormwind soldiers arrived in the harbor and prepared to set out on the hunt for the treacherous beast, they and all of Theramore received quite a surprise. A surprise delivered by an orcish messenger, grinning so wide his lower jaw could have fallen off.

" _Hear the words of Warchief Thrall…"_

Go'el _, Jaina silently corrects._

_But she does not say so. The messenger goes on, reading from the document he carries._

"… _Son of Durotan, Lord of the Clans and leader of the Horde. Citizens of Theramore, know that our warriors have struck down the fearsome dragon Onyxia. Her head is perched atop a pole in Orgrimmar, and she can no longer threaten any being of this world."_

Only an expedition to the lair, in order to see the proof with their own eyes, would convince both the Stormwind soldiers and the people of Theramore, of course. But that evidence could not be questioned, even if some tried.

A lighthearted note softened the buzz even more. Dear old Aegwynn, true to herself, delivered a characteristic analysis of the situation once the two of them got away from the confused crowd to write a reply to Thrall.

" _It's not quite as chivalrous of the knight in black and copper armor if he sends somebody else to slay the dragon and save the princess."_

Jaina softly laughed at the memory, despite the vague feeling of guilt those words caused then and now. The look that the former Guardian gave her in that moment did not help, either. If Aegwynn knew, then… but that woman saw everything, didn't she?

And she was back to what she had tried to get her thoughts away from. Yet, when approached from this angle it offered respite instead of torture. It required little thought, even for the simplest man with little understanding for tactics, to see that the orcs had not been nearly as threatened by Onyxia as the people of Theramore. Oh certainly, there were the orcs and ogres in Brackenwall village, but they may as well just have ducked until the danger passed. The humans could not hide as easily. Stone walls around a city did not protect against dragon fire from the sky.

And yet, the orcs had struck quicker than the humans, before the furious dragon could take her revenge on the closest humans she could find.

Why then?

Some of course said, mainly the Stormwind troops, that it was a trick. That the orcs conspired with Onyxia to get the humans to lower their guard.

Right, others slowly replied. The dragon sure seemed to be in on it. That's why there were so many orc, troll and tauren bodies burnt right into the ground. Not to mention that she let them cut her head off just to fool us.

And back and forth they went, some claiming it wasn't really Onyxia's body and others wondering if it really mattered, because they had been scared of a black, female dragon – and one was definitely lying dead and beheaded in that lair. How many female dragons of that size could possibly exist in the world?

And that slowly gave way for the exasperated sighs and knowing glances. Jaina heard more than one report about people speaking of Hyjal. Unwilling to admit it to themselves at first, but…

_Good work, Warchief. You knew what you were doing._

She relaxed against the wall. Yes, things were not so horrible right now, were they? There were actually a few reasons for optimism, and even joy. It didn't have to be something grand in the eyes of the world, not by far.

_Barely stable on the ground, and his call rings in her ears the moment she appears on the butte._

" _Jaina!"_

_He grabs her hands and she blinks, not at his force because he still remembers to be careful not to break her fingers._

_She has never, ever seen him so happy._

_It is beautiful._

" _Jaina," he repeats, smiling like he has never done before, "I have a grandmother."_

Even now she smiled. One hand rose up, fingers splayed out against the cool stone, stroking it slowly, idly. She watched the motions, drawing invisible circles on the wall. For just a little while her everyday troubles were completely gone, chased away by the memory of Thrall's story and the warm swelling in her chest as she listened to him.

It felt the same, remembering. Him watching her like that, still grasping her hands. Because she let him, because she held on to him too.

_Go'el… Thrall._

His real name still sounded foreign to her, but she tried to use it whenever speaking to him later. It lit a sparkle in his eyes like nothing else ever had. All their problems seemed so far away then that she almost forgot herself in the middle of a sentence. Him laughing with her, soft and rumbling chuckles from deep inside his chest.

But too soon, they always had to return their focus to the skirmishes between the Horde and Alliance, and his eyes darkened.

The insane idea gently poked at her again. Thoughts of him were, after all, its most powerful weapon.

 _You know you can stop the fighting,_ she told herself, staring up at the night sky between the curtains. _Kill their reasons. Try it at least._

_It is insane._

_It is hope._

Again Jaina wondered how long the idea had been with her. Now that it had taken shape and dug into her, it seemed to have existed in the back of her mind for years – even if she had only admitted its existence to herself during the last couple of months.

And if she was brutally honest, it _had_ been there for much, much longer.

_Ask. Suggest._

_At worst he'll laugh_ at _you._

She closed her eyes.

_No. At worst I'll lose his friendship._

Throughout her life she had given up things even when it felt as if it tore her heart right out of her chest. Many a time during the war had she risked her life to win. To act on this insane idea should not be any more frightening than that.

_All my choices led towards this, didn't they?_

_And am I prepared to risk something so precious to me again?_

Always meeting in "secret", the kind of secret everyone knew but never spoke of, always only snatching a touch to his arm and wonder when he would make a choice for himself? Always waiting for the next war?

To never know?

She straightened up.

_No. I will not wait and see. If I lose, then at least I tried._

The relief this decision caused could not be described. Focusing on her breathing, Jaina lay down and closed her eyes. She only trembled in doubt briefly, but shielded herself with the steel hard determination that had driven her through two wars.

She would just need a day or two to think this through practically, before she contacted him. A question for tomorrow.

Very soon, sleep overtook her exhausted mind and body.


	2. Hands held out

Although the sun shone down in full force upon Durotar, the salt-scented wind on top of the butte could be pretty sharp. It pushed at Jaina's blue cloak, not so much that it fluttered but gently pressed against her. Thrall spotted her long before his zeppelin came close to the cliff formation rising from the landscape – a white and blue dot against the orange of the land. Standing there, watching the dirigible move nearer and nearer.

A rare feeling for him, that somebody waited for him to arrive – normally people came to him and not vice versa.

Seeing her from such a distance did beg the question, however, how long she had been waiting and why. Normally when they met, he saw nothing on top of the butte until coming much closer. After all their "secret" conferences through the years, Jaina knew well how long it took for him to make it to the meeting point. If she teleported there so much more earlier than she had to, there must be some pressing subject she needed to discuss with him.

It would not be the first time he wished the zeppelin could move a little quicker. Finally it drifted over the butte, and he pulled the levers to make it hold its position in the air.

Jaina gazed up at him, patiently waiting as he threw down the rope ladder and climbed down to her. Before he even left the deck Thrall had taken note of the dark rings around her eyes, and he was only half a breath away from letting go of the ladder and simply drop the last couple of feet. Only the shaman's self-control held him back from acting like a worried fool. A few more seconds would not change whatever problem weighed down on Jaina.

"Good morning, Go'el," she said the moment his feet touched the ground.

Thrall turned around, concern briefly cracking in a smile. No trace of exhaustion could be heard in Jaina's voice, and hearing her speak his real name had ever since the first time had a certain – alarming – way of making him momentarily lose sight of any troubling issues.

"The same to you, Jaina," he replied.

She smiled a little.

For some time after the debacle with the Burning Blade and the demon Zmodlor, he had travelled to their meetings together with a couple of Kor'kron Elites. Moments like these, however, were the reason he ceased bringing guards – speaking as friends and not leaders became impossible with a grim audience. To add, he felt foolish standing there with two fully armed guards, in front of the much smaller, lonely Jaina. Not only did it look silly – on the other side of the shield was the fact that if she wanted to kill them, she could easily do so with her magic. The zeppelin flew far out of range for any harmful spells cast from the ground below. What use did those guards have, aside from making the meetings far more awkward than they had to be?

Had the Elites been there, he could not have looked at her and spoken as he did now, turning serious. As Warchief there were things he could not allow himself to do – showing concern for a human, even one regarded with some respect by his people, was one such thing. But here, alone with Jaina, the Warchief of the Horde was only a part of him.

"What is the matter?" he asked. "I see you're troubled about something."

It was like a hunter giving away his position to the gazelle he had been tracking. Jaina bit her lower lip, glancing aside as her body tensed. The change was so alarming that Thrall took a step forwards, but when he moved, Jaina looked up and shook her head.

"I'm a little overworked, that's all," she said. Only a strained smile could have made this lie more obvious.

Thrall frowned, something that tended to have a very immediate effect on people. It worked this time as well. Jaina cleared her throat and tried to relax.

"Very well," she said. "I've been… there's a lot going on right now, that's all. This guerrilla war situation is just a few steps short of complete war." She waved an arm at the landscape at large.

They had both said the same thing before, over and over, sometimes with different words but the same meaning. Thrall slowly nodded, scowl dissipating. Still waiting for her to admit what the real problem was, but he could see that she would eventually tell him when she was ready.

"As ever," he said, then touched her shoulder, smiling faintly – at least, an orcish version of 'faintly'. "But let me remind you that ever since the Dark Portal opened, there have been fewer reports on attacks on the Crossroads."

"What are they attacking instead?" Jaina tiredly asked, shaking her head. "They're just relocating their hunt for quick glory, aren't they?"

Thrall hummed, smile dying. He could not deny that she was right, but had hoped to at least put her mind a little at ease.

"That's right…" she said, sighing.

She reached for a pocket in her cloak and pulled out a letter, heavy with Theramore's seal in wax.

"Would you have this delivered to the high elf captain Thalo'thas Brightsun?" she said.

The name was familiar, but with all the things going on right then it took a moment before Thrall remembered this particular incident, especially since it was quite a while ago. He pursed his mouth and took the letter.

"The Northwatch attacks?" he asked, to be sure.

Jaina nodded, her eyes haggard.

"Full apology for the attack that destroyed his ship." She rubbed her forehead. "At this point, I don't care if he truly drove those warriors to beat up the guards at Northwatch. All but one in his crew got killed. My soldiers thought it was another pirate ship, but-"

Once more she sighed and looked up, pointing at the letter. When she spoke again, her tone became businesslike.

"I offer him a new ship as amends. We're going to need better wood for that than can be found in Dustwallow. Would it be possible to buy enough from your side at a reasonable price?"

"I can pull a few threads."

He would gladly have given her the materials if asked, but ships were expensive even to a city-state and good wood still fetched a hefty price. Further expansion into Ashenvale could solve Durotar's need for materials, but that was one of the things that Thrall tried to dissuade rather than persuade. The night elves would rightfully see that, and increasing damage to the ancient forest, as a declaration of war. Jaina was as fully aware of this as he was. She would never ask for that much.

While Jaina gratefully nodded at his reply, Thrall pocketed the letter and looked her over again.

"Have you been sleeping well?" he asked.

"If I had a solution to a problem for every time someone asked me that lately…"

The weak attempt at a joke faltered with her voice and she bit her lower lip.

"No," she finally admitted, looking away briefly. "I think too much."

He touched her shoulder again, and she laid her much smaller hand on top of his. It was a familiar gesture, but this time her fingers curled up in a fist.

"Is there anything in particular?" Thrall asked.

"Lately…" she started, but faltered again.

Frowning, he leant a little closer. This wasn't like her. Had the pressure of everything finally pushed her to her limits?

"If there's anything I can do to help, just ask," he said.

At that her lips twitched in a strange little smile. A wild look flashed past, but then she composed herself and straightened up.

"Jaina?"

"Yes, I'm sorry," she said. "There's a lot on my mind."

She glanced to the side again, but then looked him in the eye.

"You're right about the things in Outland giving us a breather, and some of us a little more," she said, and this time she smiled warmly.

He returned the smile, unable not to. It went beyond words for him, to have met his grandmother, to finally find a living relative, somebody who could tell him more about his parents than anyone else. Somebody who could tell him that he had a real name. He could not remember ever feeling so happy, and he was eternally grateful to the Outland scouts who had brought her message to him.

And then to tell Jaina, see her face light up as he shared this story with her.

" _Do you want me to call you Go'el from now on?"_

" _If you wish, then yes."_

" _Hmm… you'll forgive me if I slip up a few times, I hope."_

But now her smile faded, and so did his as she fell back into the serious look.

"I fear that the hotheads will see to that the fighting keeps going on there and flows back out again, however," she said.

Thrall grimly nodded. One could already see it happening, with never-ending vendettas heard in the spats reported from both Orgrimmar and beyond. Things along the lines of "I just got word from my brother and he saw five humans and a couple of dwarves walking through our territory, just within sight of Falcon Watch! Let's go teach 'em a lesson!". Then some humans would get furious about this and send messages to their friends on the other side of the Portal, and the friends would either join the battles in Outland or seek out a nearby target in Azeroth, and so on and so forth forever.

Thinking about things like this, Thrall often wondered if the Burning Legion still believed that they had to do anything at all about the state of the world. The inhabitants were really good at creating chaos themselves.

He shook off the thoughts and looked at Jaina, silently asking her to continue. It wasn't the first time they discussed this, and it wouldn't be the last either. Sometimes, it helped them find possible solutions to some of the problems they faced, but most of the time it was just an act of venting frustration to an equal. Jaina only ruled Theramore, yet she always seemed to end up taking on a fair share of responsibility for the Alliance's antics on Kalimdor – if not practically, then emotionally. Was it, after all, too much for her to bear? Considering what he believed her capable of handling, this seemed unlikely – but what else could have driven her to this harried state?

Her lips were almost as white as her dress, and he frowned deeper when noticing this. The hesitance to explain what was on her mind implied only something very grim indeed. Had something happened that she was scared to tell him?

The Alliance? A thousand unpleasant possibilities ran through his head, anything between war and Jaina being under pressure from threats or political blackmail. Nothing but something so serious would drive her to a state like this. A presumptive growl risked to form in Thrall's throat, but he held it back – for the moment when he knew why it might be needed.

"What is it?" he asked, brushing his thumb against her shoulder reassuringly.

He saw her other fist clench at her side.

"I'm going to say something outrageous," she said in a strange voice. "Will you promise not to laugh?"

"Of course," he said, eyebrows rising in surprise.

"Thank you."

Jaina breathed in deeply. Sweat glued a few strands of hair to her forehead, and he suspected that it was not only because of the sun.

"Since things are a little more peaceful here for the moment," she said. "I think, perhaps, this is the greatest chance we'll have in a while to reinforce the fact that Orgrimmar and Theramore aren't enemies."

"Certainly," he said, still surprised as he could not see what was outrageous about another official meeting between the two of them.

The last time they met in Ratchet and signed the non-aggression pact, it had stopped the fighting in the Barrens and Dustwallow for at least a little while. Not perfect, and not as restraining as either of them would wish, but better than nothing.

The spirits whispered, but he could not make out a single word. Only a sense of wonder.

Jaina took in another breath.

"I would- I suggest," she said and cleared her throat before continuing, "I have a suggestion that could make fighting between our nations completely needless."

He blinked.

"What would that be?" he asked.

"To, that is to say, if they were no longer two nations, but one."

She stared at him.

He stared back, lost on her logic.

Then he did a double take, realized what she was actually saying, and stared at her again. Laughing at her was the absolutely last thing on his mind.

For the first time in his life, the Warchief of the Horde was utterly lost for words.

"Jaina…" he finally managed.

Her head tipped sharply towards the ground.

"It's asking a lot of you, I realize that," she said, speaking painfully quick. "Geographically Theramore is inconvenient but we are the most important trading port to the Eastern Kingdoms. But I'll understand if you don't want to throw away that possibility to strengthen ties to some clan or another nation or if you have other plans."

He grasped her other shoulder, shaking his head to make her stop talking. But although she looked up at him, the wild spark was back in her eyes and she did not fall silent. In the torrent of words, she flailed for whatever she had planned to say and now apparently had lost, and he could not catch his breath enough to pull his thoughts together. Nobody had ever so completely managed to knock him off balance with just a few words.

"I told you it was outrageous, it's just that, I've been thinking it over, don't think anything else. It would be dangerous for both of us but it could at least put an end to the risk of it coming to war between us. It's a political gamble, you know some consider Theramore to be the theoretical capital of the Alliance although Stormwind doesn't agree, what it would mean for the factions-"

The wild look intensified, growing more pained for every word falling out between her lips. Jaina stared up at him, suddenly silent – but she took in another breath, and realizing that she was just a second away from apologizing for being a fool, Thrall managed to unlock his tongue.

"Asking a lot of _me_?" he said, much sharper than he had intended. "How can you say that?"

She jumped as if stung. Inwardly wincing, he shook his head and held up a hand.

"Make no mistake, I see your reasoning," he said. "But…"

At the last word, Jaina's eyebrows crashed downwards and her mouth scrunched up in a bitter non-smile. Thrall quickly went on.

"… is that reasoning not truly the knowledge that my army could be standing on your doorstep at some point? Your people are scared, there's no denying it."

The look in her widening eyes burned into him, but he clenched his teeth and went on.

"Don't you think I have pondered the same?" he asked. "But considering the danger my forces pose to Theramore, do you think I could demand of you to do such a thing?"

He shook his head, fists curling at his sides as he looked away.

Certainly, the Alliance would return an invasion of Theramore with full force, seeing as it was the one human stronghold in Kalimdor, but that did not change the fact that shortsighted members of the Horde liked to shake their weapons at the walls. Theramore _would_ be the first to fall if the factions ever pitted against each other in full-scale war again.

Both of them were fully, and agonizingly aware of this.

It struck him only too late what he admitted in his second to last question, and in his mind he cursed himself.

For a moment they stood in silence. The wind played in their hair and the hems of Jaina's robe and dress, easy and uncaring about what was going on upon the butte. Far below them life in Razor Hill went on as usual, as oblivious as the wind. The orcs and trolls living in the town were so used to seeing Thrall's zeppelin that they probably only took passing note of it these days.

Their chins would have hit the ground if they even suspected what the discussion on the butte was about.

"You," Jaina finally started, "you think that I would sell myself for peace?"

He met her gaze again, painful though it was.

"I believe you are prepared to do anything you need to," he said.

"I'll take that as a compliment for my personal strength," she replied, rubbing her cheek.

"It is."

"In return I can compliment your chivalry," she said, some cold creeping into her voice. "Misplaced as it is."

The tone alone would have earned a growl if Jaina had been anybody else, because no one spoke to the Warchief like that. But this was Jaina, and therefore Thrall watched her warily instead of demanding an explanation.

"Misplaced?" he said, not snarling.

Nodding, she reached out and brushed her fingers against his arm. Often when she did so in the past he wished that she would not do such small, tender things because it was so difficult shaking off the memory afterwards, when he had to focus on other matters. And her doing such things allowed him to touch her shoulders, and knowing that was fine with her he could not keep himself from doing it. Now, he wished she would cease more than ever, wondering if this would end in an argument that would kill all possibility of further meetings and little touches.

No, never. She meant too much to him, he could not allow that to happen.

"You misunderstand my reasoning," Jaina said. "True, it would protect my people from the Horde. It would not kill our people's distrust for each other, not at once, but they could no longer demand preparation for war. However…"

She frowned, then more glared rebelliously at him than watched him.

"… all that is on a political level, not a personal one."

It took a moment before Thrall reacted, because her words sent a wave of emotions crashing through him. Disbelief, anger at how she kept trying to delude herself and him – and the anger washed away at the sight of her steady eyes. Wonder made it out last.

This did not mean that he was won over. Doubt still held a tenuous but real grip of him, even as he struggled with a hot, feathery tightening in his chest.

Shaking his head, he raised his hand in front of her face. The fist, when he clenched it, was almost as big as her entire head.

He had grown up among humans – he could understand their ideals of beauty, even if he, like all other orcs, would be hard-pressed to actually find any random human woman attractive.

Any _random_ woman. Even though he found Jaina pleasant to look at – even with her pale face, too light hair, too wide eyes, spindly little hands, and all that was just a shell over the too precious spirit that was Jaina Proudmoore and-

He had to wrestle his thoughts away from where they were heading. Even with all his shamanistic and warrior training to keep his mind under control, right then and there he found it to be a difficult endeavor. He could not allow himself to feel any of this.

"Jaina, the fact that you are able to see past our differences for friendship's sake has always meant a lot to me," he said. As he went on, he used one finger to draw an invisible line across his chest to underline how wide it was. "But are you convinced that you would not be revolted by these differences in appearance if it came to that?" He finished by touching one of the tusks rising up between his lips. All those things that were considered attractive in the eyes of his own people but-

"Now you're insulting both of us," Jaina said. Stepping closer, she reached up past his still raised hand and touched his cheek.

That was new.

"There is no man like you, not in any race," she softly said. "I don't know what else I can say to convince you."

Thrall watched her face. Slowly he lowered his hand, brushing the thumb along Jaina's arm and finally curling his fingers around her waist – covering a considerable portion of her back. There was no hint of a wince at any point as he did so. Instead she smiled, flat teeth showing between her lips.

"I thought I heard you say that you had wanted to bring this up yourself," she said.

He nodded slowly, and the motion stroke her pink fingertips against his green skin. Of course he had contemplated it, deeply so, but for the reasons he had told her he could not have voiced those thoughts. Even if he had, and she agreed, how could he have lived with himself – ever wondering if the risk of war had not pressured her to leap for a solution that revolted her? He had already had her father killed, what more damnation could he bring her?

But this was all her idea, freely given.

For as long as he could remember, he had loved Tari. That Jaina reminded him of her may have made it easier for him to become her friend in the first place, but it was long since their friendship needed that crutch.

He still loved Tari, always would, but she was gone. Never had he blamed her for choosing the safety of her family over fleeing with him to save herself, only never forgiving himself for failing to protect her. Now Jaina looked up at him, waiting, another person completely. Other choices, no less painful, but made and faced with bravery and strength few others would be able to pride themselves with. Beyond her strength, what the two of them had shared ever since the last war – hours of discussions and shared worries, arguments, exchanged insights.

Loving Tari was different, too, always with the sense that it was the simple love between siblings. Jaina was something else. Not Tari – not equal to her, not worth less, not worth more. So different that comparing them was unfair to Jaina. She meant far more than a mere reminder of another woman, and Thrall never saw her as another sister.

He had thought about all this many times, because as leaders there were certain expectations of both Jaina and him. Completely valid expectations, but he had not made a move to meet them because he could not think of anyone more worthy. Some would certainly call it tragic, yet it was the simple truth that he knew no woman amongst his own people who measured up to Jaina. Not in any quality.

And she was known among them as a human who had chosen an orc over her own father.

Not only that ( _all_ that) – she had the sheer gall to throw all conventions out the window and propose to the Warchief.

The spirits seldom spoke clearly. One had to listen carefully not to misunderstand their often cryptic messages.

Now they said _Yes._

Or perhaps, it was not so much the spirits' voices, as his own. Difficult to tell, and perhaps it was not so important who spoke the loudest, in the end. Thrall breathed in deeply.

"Well then," he said, sounding worlds calmer than he felt. "We better discuss how to go about this in detail."

He knew that Jaina held true to the philosophy that mages with strong emotions were dangerous to themselves and all those around them. Therefore, she prided herself with keeping her feelings in check.

But now her face lit up from within, and her arms were around his neck before he realized it. She leaped to reach, leaving her feet hanging above the ground and he instinctively pressed both hands to her back to hold her up – somehow remembering to be careful not to crush her against his armor.

This was definitely new.

"Oh, pardon me," she said with complete dishonesty and laughter trickling into her voice.

"I forgive you," Thrall replied in turn.

Jaina let herself slide back to the ground, but she remained standing closer than she ever had before, hands pressed to his breastplate and his arms at her back. Her eyes practically twinkled. He could not recall ever seeing her like this, almost like a girl, but not quite. No, not a girl, but a woman who had steeled herself so long that a crack in her shell of worries and stress simply blossomed.

Not girly. Mischievous might be the word, joyously so, and he was not one to be caught dead using the word "cute" – but honestly, nothing else fit. Thrall chose not to say that though, for dignity's sake and the fact that she would never let him live that down.

"Please, do tell me how many rules I broke," she said.

In all honesty it would be easier to say which rules she had _not_ broken, but they were beyond the point where that mattered.

"It's not unheard of, of women asking," Thrall said. He left it unsaid that nobody had ever heard of any Warchief being proposed to as opposed to choosing his wife. "Although, it is customary to go on a courtship hunt together." Grinning, he nodded his head towards the north. "But I believe we can regard that as done with after what happened on mount Hyjal."

"No, no, no…"

Jaina made half a motion as if to move away. Thrall's muscles immediately tightened to keep her where she was, even though he did realize that she meant to deliver a joke. She looked up at him with an entirely earnest expression.

"We should not disregard every convention there is. Which dragons do you want killed?" she asked, just as seriously.

For a moment he stared at her. Then he threw his head back and laughed like he hadn't done in far too long. She laughed too, leaning her head against his chest.

Still smiling, they sat down to discuss the more practical implications this arrangement would entail. As much hope for peace their decision may hold, it might just as well spell political suicide for at least Jaina. Thrall's position allowed him a whole lot more freedom than her – few would loudly dare to challenge his sanity, and through that, right to rule. Jaina, on the other hand, would surely face protests from large part of the Alliance.

The risk had to be considered, that even her own people might rise up against Jaina because of this.

"I don't believe they would do that," she said in comment to her own thoughts on that matter, but her tone was grave. "They probably won't like it, and it will take time for them to adjust to the thought, but they should remember what happened in the war. And when my father…"

She trailed off, staring at her lap. Thrall sighed and nodded in understanding. It would have had come to that subject eventually. Even if his troops obediently had done as little harm to Theramore itself as they could, it did not change the end of the battle. Inevitable as it had been.

They had both done what they had to do, but it would always hang as a shadow between them.

And yet, if Proudmoore had been alive, he would have had the final say in the matter of who Jaina married.

She shook her head and looked up.

"Let's not go there," she said. "The important thing is that my people remember Hyjal, not to mention the fact that your people cleared out Onyxia for us."

That the subject of her father got steered clear of was definitely a relief for both of them. For now at least, on an unspoken agreement they chose to ignore the existence of her brother Tandred and what he may have to say on the matter. Although he chose not to bring it up either, Thrall did think about his grandmother. Yet he did not know her well enough to brave a guess on what she may think of this – although she had listened with great interest when he told her about the battles against Archimonde and Daelin Proudmoore.

It would have to be a later problem.

"Yes, but what of the rest of the Alliance?" Thrall said, watching Jaina. "Some will question Theramore's place in it because of this."

She grimly nodded. The other kingdoms would not take lightly upon the crucial port town – invaluable for the trade and being the one human stronghold on Kalimdor – making such a turncoat move in the political game.

"I believe that we might get Tyrande's support on this, if not her blessing," Jaina said.

"A personal kind of support, perhaps, but I cannot hope for a political one. Not with the struggle for Warsong Gulch." Thrall rubbed his forehead, growling. "The Outriders are so wrapped up in their private war with the Sentinels that they won't let it go no matter how many times I summon their leaders to shout at them."

He despised speaking of it, but that, like the underground slavery and the Burning Blade, remained poisonous weeds right under his nose, which he had not yet managed to rip out completely. Many times in the past, Jaina had heard him vent his frustration about it – she was one of the extremely few who ever got to see that side of him.

Now she nodded.

"Yes, but it is something," she said. "As for the draenei, they are still building their new lives on Azeroth. But, maybe eventually…"

"Indeed. That would be a blessing."

The draenei's shamanistic knowledge would be invaluable, just as their connection to the naaru and willingness to fight against the Burning Legion. Yet, nobody could ask of them to put aside their bitterness and horrid memories of what the orcs had done to them on Draenor. The fact that some of their shamans joined forces with orcs, trolls and taurens of the Earthen Ring offered some hope, but…

Thrall shook off those thoughts and looked at Jaina.

"Perhaps it would be wise of you to play on my reason for that initial refusal," he said. The look on her face was that of confusion. True, they had strayed far from that subject, and she did not at once manage to leap back to it. He hurried to make himself clear. "Let the Alliance think you chose between this or war."

"Play a martyr for peace?" Jaina asked, frowning.

"Not to your own people, of course, but hint at it in your messages to the Eastern Kingdoms." He held up a hand when it looked like she would shake her head. "No, it is better that way. Few of them think highly of me as is, it would not harm you."

After a moment she nodded, although not looking too pleased. But she had to realize, too, that if the rest of the Alliance thought that this was an act of convenience or need for social stability, they might have an easier time accepting it. Better to be thought a sacrificial lamb than a prostitute. The mere thought of that made his hands curl into fists.

Over an hour later Thrall had to break it off, knowing that he could not stay away from his seat of power for too long. Jaina agreed, but she was as anxious to keep discussing the matters as he was. They had barely scraped the surface of all the things that would have to be dealt with, and _how_ to deal with them. But at least, although Jaina did not have suggested answers to all of his and her own questions, she had enough ideas to prove how much thought she had already poured into the whole project.

They parted, but with a promise to meet the next day and continue the private conference.

* * *

Only once Jaina was back in her own rooms in Theramore, and her head had begun to cool off from the madness – indeed, wild hope, chilling fears, joy and a thousand other emotions spinning through her head, only one step from insanity – only then did she remember that she had forgot to ask one important question, and it froze the grin on her face.

Something so small but so important to the culture she grew up in – even stricter than normal for her, a woman of such a fine family line. Something so small, so ridiculous even, but not dismissible and it had haunted her only in its current form in peaceful times. There had been no time for it before, not when her life took plunges – _I will be a mage, a scholar dedicated to study and magic_ to _We may not be alive tomorrow_ and onwards through _We are alive and building a new home_.

She stared out of one of the window of her chambers, without really seeing anything. Unwittingly, one of her hands went to her stomach.

Only after the chaos she found herself the owner of her own throne, and with that, being a person who was expected to eventually produce an heir who could sit on that throne later on.

Before that, she had only been haunted by regret and bitterness, and the memory of sweet whispers, of fingertips and warmth that had turned colder than ice. Both of them young and foolish, knowing they were as good as betrothed – it would only be a few words away, the match was suitable even in a politician's eye – but duty called him, and magic her. And then he turned into the greatest evil to walk Azeroth, barring Archimonde and his ilk.

Bitterness and regret being mere personal torture, but with her current position the problem became a tangible… inconvenience to say the least. Before, she may have pushed it aside and felt that she would face it the day she had a suitable suitor.

 _And how long ago was it, young lady, that you could bear thinking of anyone but_ him _touching you?_

But knowing Thrall, her gut feeling said that it wouldn't matter at all to him – oh, and his concern about their physical differences almost made her laugh now, if she only had not been so busy working up more anxiety for the cauldron of worries. Back on the butte it made her angry at first, but for shame, Warchief…

' _You're telling me with a straight face that you don't think I'm ugly?' That's what you wanted to know, wasn't it?_

Bulky, green, towering, covered with scars, intimidating at the slightest tightening of blue eyes, black hair so heavy and thick you might make rope from a handful of strands? Yes. Hideous? No. It was not seeing through appearances to find the beauty within. It was only a question of getting used to the physical differences.

To anyone else she may have found some way to slink out of this small but infinitely annoying predicament her younger self had brought her into, but… she would not, could not lie to Thrall.

He probably wouldn't care. But then again, she had no idea how orcs valued virginity.

Damn it all.

Jaina did something she had not done for years, and bit on a nail. There was that problem, and the issues relating to it, that she was in no state of mind to ponder right now.

_You can't bear thinking of anybody else touching you but it still scares you to think of it and that was what he really meant and you know it._

_He would rather treat you like a leper than lay a finger on you if he thought you didn't want him to._

_There is an unknown number of half-orcs living in this world. Not all of them were conceived through atrocities. But what lives do they live?_

Jaina strode quickly through the room and sat down by her writing table. Gritting her teeth she pulled up an empty sheet of paper in front of her. To list all the issues Thrall and she had discussed today might help her sort out her thoughts, something she sorely needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh... we'll be talking about more than one questline that doesn't exist anymore, but that's the way the way it goes when reposting an old story.


	3. Discrepancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thomas Southstone is an OC whose story is told in my "The Emissary" series.

" _Tomorrow we announce it, then."_

" _Yes."_

And so it would be – but far from the entire truth.

"Hear ye, hear ye! Our honored Lady Proudmoore wishes to let one and all know that she will meet with the orcish Warchief Thrall and renew the non-aggression pact between Theramore and Durotar. The meeting shall take place in Ratchet, in the open for all to see, in four days' time!"

The criers went all over the city with the announcement, and a sense of excitement floated through the air. Not all positive, some suspicious of the orcs inviting the humans to a trap, and some shouting that the orcs deserved no non-aggression. Luckily, those seemed to be few in number, and not gaining much support. The overall reaction seemed to be that people thought it about time to have the hotheads of both sides reminded that there was no war. Most people did desire peace.

Jaina stood in front of her throne as she listened to the soldier reporting these things, with Aegwynn standing by, and wondered if everyone would still call her "our honored Lady Proudmoore" five days from now – or if "crazy woman" would be the kindest title she would carry.

_No_ , she told herself while thanking the soldier. _They followed me through an alliance with the orcs before. They have not forgotten. And if they have, I will make them remember._

It would not be the first time she pulled people along by their teeth.

Whatever guilt she felt at lying to her people had to be discarded. For safety's sake, it was best for everyone that the meeting officially appeared to only be about the non-aggression pact. She and Thrall had agreed on that, nobody but them would know what they planned until that very day.

"Also, my Lady," the soldier went on. "There's a rumor about you having met frequently with the Warchief in the last couple of weeks. How shall we counter it?"

"There is no need to counter it, for it is the truth," Jaina said, holding back a smile. "There has been much to discuss in preparation of this meeting."

He saluted, but could not hide the curious look in his eye as he turned around to leave. Obviously he too wondered if that many meetings were really necessary for the sake of renewing an old pact.

It could not be avoided, that people in Durotar saw Thrall's zeppelin more often than usual and the news of that spread along the trading roads – it _should_ not be avoided. The news that Jaina did not try to hide this fact would spread like wildfire. Thrall too would make sure that the people of Orgrimmar wondered about it all. They would not know the truth, but they would suspect that there was something more about this. Some may even make a correct guess.

A dirty game with people's minds, certainly, but it would serve to make the shock's impact softer. There was no other way the two leaders could counter the surprise, so that it did not risk spilling over into violence. It would be naïve to hope that the overall population would simply accept this. One could only cushion the blow and hope for the best.

Hopefully it would work out without more cinches than necessary. Moving in secret might be a gamble, but a risk they chose to take.

But, secrets…

Jaina stared at nothing, lost in thought. The soldier passed between the two guards by the door and was gone. She hardly noticed.

There was still that something she had yet to tell Thrall. The time never seemed right, because they always stayed in the political and social area of discussion, avoiding one part of their future relationship. She couldn't tell if it was her fault, or his, or a silent agreement they never should have reached.

Still it was there, when he watched her and she utterly forgot what she was talking about, had to back up, like a fool, and his mildly surprised smile every time that happened made it even more difficult. He never seemed to get so lost – but when it came to him, stumbling on a single word as she laid her hand on his said a lot. Just one brief moment was different.

" _Tomorrow we announce it, then."_

" _Yes."_

_He stands half turned, dark against the glare of the sun. A few wisps of hair has whipped free of his braids in the wind. The zeppelin waits._

_His hand suddenly offered, she steps closer. Big, warm hand at her back, he leans in, holds her gaze, heavy braids whispering against her cheeks and shoulders. Foreheads brushing, his skin feels a little rough, so acutely real she can hardly breathe, his hairline tickling her fringe. It's simple, and intimate, and she doesn't need his murmured explanation to understand what it is, but he offers it anyway._

" _With our tusks and fangs… orcs don't kiss like humans do."_

_Fumbling little words. He might not have realized he should make himself clear, and he didn't have to but he doesn't know that. She reaches up around his neck, wanting to keep him there for just a little longer when both know that they need to return to their cities._

Perhaps she could have told him then, but she would not have allowed anything to destroy that moment. Just standing there, in the sunlight, watching him climb up the rope ladder and take off, feeling the ghost of warmth.

_Four days. And then… what?_

She leant her cheek in a hand and closed her eyes for a second, trying not to remember too intensively. Even if her long sleeves hid them, hot goose bumps made it difficult to concentrate. A mage's strict training in keeping her mind in check helped, but it was not the first time that day Jaina found her thoughts slipping back to that particular memory – it had taken over from that of the first day, when his arms closed around her. Her spine tingled from the part of her back Thrall had touched.

"Lady?"

Aegwynn's voice called her back to the there and now.

"Just thinking," Jaina said, turning to nod at the guards. She had a feeling that the chamberlain watched her curiously, and didn't feel like faking an innocent face right then. Doing that had never been something she was good at.

One of the guards walked outside and let the next person waiting in the other room know that he could enter.

"Emissary Southstone, my Lady."

The former paladin of the Silver Hand saluted rather than bowed in greeting, despite the fact that he – after a rather strange and winding path involving things such as befriending a troll after cutting off his arm – had changed from armor to a diplomat's robe. Old habits died hard.

"At ease," Jaina said.

He still stood at attention, body schooled in the military and never forgetting that fact.

"The Warchief will be sending a representative to Ratchet today," Jaina said, "I want you to meet with him and Gazlowe to discuss how to best deal with the big meeting. We should hold it in the open space outside the town itself so that people can watch, but the goblins will want to know about security. Tell them that there will be Theramore soldiers to help them keep the peace, should they want it. I'm sure that the Warchief will offer to aid in that matter as well. For my personal safety I will bring my Elite Guard, and I believe that the Warchief plans on bringing some of his Kor'kron Elites. I trust you to handle this, Thomas, but should you be uncertain of anything, let me know."

"Yes, my Lady." He bowed his head, then straightened. "I have only one question for the moment. Four days is quite a short notice for such an important meeting. Knowing them, the goblins will probably suspect foul play connected to that. What shall I tell them?"

Jaina managed to keep her lips from twitching. Foul play indeed, if one wished to see it like that.

"Four days is enough time to spread the news to the nearest settlements," she said, "but it's not enough time for troublemakers to assemble a dangerously large troop."

He nodded with an understanding grin.

After he left, she handed out letters to mages who would teleport to Darnassus, Stormwind, Ironforge and the Exodar, letting the Alliance leaders know of the meeting. There would be new letters sent in a few days, but she did this now to keep up the charade of the meeting only involving the non-aggression pact. Not even Tyrande would know the truth any sooner than everybody else. The outrage, when it came, would have no chance to get in the way.

Four days, and then all hell would break loose. Or everyone would stand gaping for so long that they got time to get used to the thought. Trouble could, and would certainly, come later, but by then it would already have been done.

Jaina grimly smiled to herself, hiding it behind her hand.

Anybody trying to disrupt Thrall's and her plans would find themselves frozen solid in a magical blizzard – if he did not smash their heads in first.

* * *

Moonlight.

Jaina stared at the ceiling. Old problems still helped to keep her awake, but the new worries drowned most of them out. At least, she had been prepared for these, had opened the door to them herself – and she knew that she did not face the problems for the future alone. They actually appeared manageable.

Except that tingle up her spine. She shuddered, torn to the bottom of her being and hating herself for it, but when she thought of Thrall, really thought of him she could not deny how different they actually were in appearance. How much bigger than her he really was. He knew it well, watching her with concern flashing past. Yet they didn't speak of it, as if they were both afraid.

And even as she wrestled with her mind not to go deeper into imagery, she thought of his forehead brushing against hers and the feeling of his hand at her back. Fearful of her own imagination and thrilled at the same time – exactly alike her thoughts of what the future with him held, not as a friend and fellow leader, but a husband. Such thoughts had haunted her during half awake, unguarded moments even long before she proposed, and now they had reason to be there. She didn't know how to handle them, neither then nor now.

Did he think of her like this as well?

She bit her lower lip, pinching her eyes shut. Sleep would not come – she was wide awake.

Finally she sighed and sat up, thrusting her feet into a pair of slippers. Standing up she grabbed her light, but warm morning coat from the back of a chair and swept it around herself. A half burnt down candle stood on her desk, and she lit it with a minimal fire spell. The small flame did its best to counter the cold moonlight, casting warm shadows across the room.

Jaina tiptoed over to one of the tall windows, pushing the curtain aside to look down upon Theramore. Torches lit the streets where guards marched, but beyond that only the moon and stars shimmered upon the black ocean. Torn clouds reached their fingers towards the white, swelling crescent in the sky, and the distant waves whispered all around the city.

Peaceful.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, lost in thought.

A sudden draft caused that candlelight to flicker and she spun around, sensing magic. Only her strength of character kept her from crying out in surprise at the sight that met her.

Kael'thas Sunstrider pressed a long, elegant finger against his lips.

They stared at each other for a moment, and with some instinctual relief Jaina noticed how odd he looked. The dancing candlelight glanced over him without casting any shadow, and the red folds of his robe seemed illuminated by a light from someplace on the other side of him. He was not really there.

Still Jaina remained on guard.

"Kael?" she finally whispered, when he did nothing but watch her.

He bowed his head in greeting.

"Jaina. I apologize for intruding at this hour." His voice was just as she remembered it, soft and warm. Few elves had voices that were not a pleasure to listen to, and Kael'thas' was certainly no exception to this rule.

"It's- quite alright." She drew the morning coat a little tighter about herself. "I've been worried about you."

A smile touched his lips, reaching almost all the way to his eyes.

"You have?" he said.

She nodded, and it was honest.

"Yes," she said. "You and your people suffered horribly unfair judgment during the war. If I had known, I would have helped you."

"You could not have done much, I'm afraid," he said, shaking his head slowly. Silky, blond locks swept about his neck and shoulders in the movement. "But I know you would have tried, and that I appreciate from the bottom of my heart."

"And now?" she said, maybe a little too quick. "Why are you here?"

"Yes…" Never for a moment did he take his eyes off her. "Jaina," he said, his voice soft and gentle. "Sweet Jaina, I allied with the naga because there was no other way. You don't have to do the same."

She gave a start and narrowed her eyes, watching him suspiciously. Again he shook his head.

"I have eyes that see far," he said. "I know that you are being courted by the Horde's Warchief."

"What are you saying?" she asked, shoulders rising and eyes thinning further.

This, neither she nor Thrall had counted on. How much did the prince know, how much _could_ he know? Yet he watched her with sadness in his eyes, not enmity.

"Do not lay yourself in the arms of the orc, Jaina. I too thought he was honorable before, when hearing of his deeds, but then he allied with the Scourge."

"The Forsaken are not the Scourge," Jaina said, but her own mantra sounded hollow. Truly, she _had_ asked Thrall how he could trust Sylvanas-

"They are still no friends of the living," Kael'thas said.

"Kael…" Jaina steeled herself, shaking off the unease thoughts of the Forsaken always caused her. "I don't say this happily, but what of _your_ other allies?"

Is it true that you are getting involved with demons?

That was the real question, but he did not even flinch.

"It is all to purge Azeroth of the Lich King's taint," he said. "Believe me, Jaina."

In her heart she wanted to, because there had been so many hours in the halls of the Violet Citadel, of discussions and experiments, and him teaching her spells beyond the books, never seeing anything odd with her being a woman learning magic. A wonderful friend, before she met Arthas and things got painfully awkward. She could still recall those happier days. However, too many strange tales from the Outland scouts, and her own instinct, told Jaina to be cautious.

"It's dangerous," she carefully said.

"I know that, fear not. But let us discuss that later." He held out his hands. "What I came to say is this: please do not accept him."

He thought that this was Thrall's idea, then. If so, he probably did not know the whole truth about what would happen in Ratchet either. Jaina looked away for a moment, planning her words carefully.

"We need the non-aggression pact," she said, looking back at him. "This guerilla war weighs heavily on his people as well as mine."

Pain flashed in his eyes, within the sadness. Seeing that, she pursed her lips. It was a bait on her part, the way she expressed herself – did he show himself here knowing of the secret plans, or did he think that she was involved in a dirty business? His next words gave her all the proof she needed.

"Is it worth any demand he might make?" he said, speaking low.

His spies had not heard a single word, only watched from afar. This she knew for certain now. But although she had actually won by fooling him, it left a foul taste in Jaina's mouth to know just what he thought she had done for peace.

Yet, even when the matrimonial ceremonies were over, that image would be what she had to bear, wasn't it? This was what Thrall meant when he told her to let the world believe it was his idea. Princesses, princes, queens, kings, and common people throughout history married to ensure social stability. No matter what, she would be seen as one following in the footsteps of those who bought peace and paid with their bodies. And Thrall would rather have half the world calling him a ravager, than her a whore. A victim, not a traitor.

No… no, it wasn't fair. He-

She looked up when Kael'thas stepped a little closer.

"Consider this," he softly said. "I will return, and Quel'thalas will rise again." His voice grew even sweeter. "The Alliance cast us aside, and I will respect my people's choice to join the Horde. But for you, I would forgive what the humans did to us, I would work for peace between us all."

Her soul turned to ice when she realized what he was going to say. Eyes boring into her, he kept talking – voice wonderfully gentle, almost singing.

"Hold him at bay, wait for me. I ask this of you, Jaina. Be my queen."

She looked at him, feeling dizzy. Him standing there, tall, proud, beautiful, glowing red against the shadows behind him. His skin was smooth and rosy, his hands _not_ bigger than her face. He had no fangs, no tusks, in every move, every breath graceful.

" _It's a simple trick of mine. Stretch your fingers like this… no, pardon me…" His skin is incredibly soft, almost like silk, and she hopes he doesn't see her blush when he gently pushes at her fingers. The library is silent, but there could have been hundreds of people and she would not have noticed. "There, it makes it easier to concentrate when casting this spell. Jaina?"_

Something screamed deep inside of her, something within her survival instincts and knowledge of magic. She breathed in sharply. Looking at Kael'thas, she noticed a tiny frown creasing his forehead momentarily.

This was something more than an innocent proposal.

"Kael, I can't, I'm sorry." Shaken, off balance not only because of the shock of his offer. There was something else- no, he could not be using some mind spell to trap her, not him. He couldn't.

His eyes narrowed, not in anger but in more pain.

"Jaina, do not for a moment believe I think you filthy," he said, but this time he was the one speaking a little too quickly.

Her hands clenched at her sides. Oh, really?

"It's not that," she said, turning away. The moment she no longer looked into his eyes, her head felt clearer. Realizing that, at first her heart sank in bitterness – then a cold rage flared up instead. "I… made a promise I can't break."

Perhaps that was saying too much, but she had no time to think of something to say that could not clue him in on the truth. His widening eyes did not tell her whether he made a correct guess, neither did his words.

"With what does he bind you?" he demanded.

She clenched her teeth, looking straight at him. For what it was worth, she had to lead him astray again, could not risk him realizing what would happen in Ratchet. Looking at him now, she knew that he would rip up every soldier he could get his hands on to stop the meeting if he figured out her and Thrall's intention. At least, if he wasn't sure, the plan may yet be pulled off without a catastrophe. Any later attack would not change the fact.

"Nothing, Kael," she said. "The Warchief is a close, personal friend."

He stared at her.

"You cannot mean that," he said. "What if people find out?"

So he had not made a correct guess – yet, at least. Now if she could only point him further away, Ratchet should be safe from a desperate attack.

"I would not have you or anyone else think ill of me," she said. "You misunderstand, there is nothing foul going on between the Warchief and myself."

"But you're saying that if he would ask that much of you, then…?" Kael'thas said, his eyes hardening.

"If ever he sunk so low," Jaina replied and raised her chin. "Then I would face that request."

"And you call that 'nothing foul'?"

There was no longer anything soft about his voice as he paced back and forth, waving his hands around.

"You would choose that then?" he snarled. "His brutish embrace?"

"There's no need to be vulgar," Jaina sharply said.

"But there is!" He whirled at her, his long pointing finger aimed towards her chest. Her hands flew up in defense, but no violent spell crackled through the air.

A hard knock on the door and a muffled call announced that the guards had heard the last, loud growl, but both Kael'thas and Jaina were deaf to this.

"Do as you wish, miss Proudmoore," the prince growled. "But know that he will see you in _my_ arms before he dies!"

"Kael!"

The door slamming into the wall accompanied her furious snarl, and two guards rushed inside. They stopped dead, staring at the elf prince with their swords drawn. He looked over his shoulder, giving them a bored glance before turning his smoldering gaze back to Jaina.

Then, scoffing, he disappeared without a trace.

"You-!" Jaina hissed in a breath, hands half raised. If she could have, she would've dragged him back, not only as an image, and let him have a piece of both her mind and magic.

"My Lady, what on earth was that?" one of the guards asked, the two of them looking around nervously.

Jaina growled, but closed her eyes and forced herself to calm down at least momentarily. Looking up, she nodded at the two men.

"It was merely an illusion. You," she looked at the one on the left, "go and tell the chamberlain to come here at once."

He hesitated, but saluted and hurried off. His comrade remained alert, sword out although he probably realized that there might not be much he could do if the strange visitor returned.

"My Lady, was that not-" he started.

"Prince Kael'thas, yes." Jaina glared at the part of the floor where the elf's image had stood. Turning back to the stunned guard, she shook her head. "Stay there. I'm going to make sure that he really left."

"Of course, my Lady!"

Jaina was already closing her eyes as he spoke, concentrating. Her will itself spread out from her, sweeping across the room. In her mind's eye she saw the outline of herself and the guard, teal shapes against the bleak, grayish furniture – and a shimmering line where Kael'thas had been when he vanished. But that too was fading quick, dissipating before she could grasp for it. Nothing else.

Well, just an illusion could not do much under normal circumstances, but she had wanted to know for certain. Opening her eyes, she nodded to the guard.

"He's gone. I don't think he's coming back, either," she said.

After a moment's hesitation, he sheathed his sword. Yet despite that, and her words, he remained tense and ready should anything else happen.

"But, my Lady, what did the elf prince want?" he asked.

Jaina pursed her mouth.

"He saw fit to voice discontent with our attempts to avoid war with the orcs," she said.

"Why would that be any of his business?" the guard sputtered, loyalty to Lady and country overriding proper behavior. He immediately gave a start when he realized this, and hurriedly added, "I beg pardon, my Lady."

"It's alright," Jaina said and grimly frowned. "I agree completely."

Running steps in the corridor announced the arrival of more people, and Aegwynn hurried inside – wearing only a night gown, and a scarf wrapped over her shoulders, her gray hair a tussled mess. Behind her were not only the guard who had gone to fetch her, but four more worried soldiers.

"What's going on here?" Aegwynn asked, waving at the first guard. "He keeps babbling about elves…"

"Gentlemen, I need to discuss this matter with the chamberlain," Jaina said, cutting her off and looking at the guards. "We will call you if needed."

They all saluted and left, closing the door behind them – albeit while giving her uncertain looks. With a scowl on her face Aegwynn walked closer, so that she and Jaina could speak in low voices – because although the guards were worried about them, the chamberlain knew a situation that should not be overheard when she saw one.

"What exactly happened, Jaina?" she asked.

"He merely spoke with me through an illusion, but it seems Prince Kael'thas believes I sleep with the Warchief to maintain peace." Jaina gnashed her teeth so hard it was probably audible. Then the words poured out of her mouth in a hiss, the frustration spilling over under Aegwynn's disbelieving stare. "How dare he speak of Go'el like that! Of me!"

The old woman's eyes narrowed, then closed.

"And here I believed that elves only thought of flowers and stars," she dryly muttered. Of course she knew that this was far from the truth, but the sarcasm did its work to satisfy something within Jaina's rage. Enough to make her take hold of herself and control her temper.

It still burned, however, maddeningly close to shame she had no reason to feel. True that she had goaded him on, but Kael'thas would not have fallen for such a trick if he did not already believe it.

Aegwynn's will swept past like the tickle of a feather, double-checking the room for any trace of leftover magic. Then she opened her eyes and nodded in satisfaction.

"But, how did he get that idea?" she asked, frowning as she watched Jaina.

_Damn it all._

"If he had spies watching our meetings," Jaina said through her teeth, "I suppose they may have jumped to conclusions."

"So," Aegwynn said, wrinkles twisting playfully around her wry smile as her grim look cracked up. "Is that it? Are you planning to elope with your green knight?"

But the chamberlain's eyebrows shot upwards when Jaina gave a start at the joke. They stared at each other. The ex-Guardian said nothing, but her eyes spoke the question almost as loudly as her voice could have.

Jaina looked away for a moment. But she was angry, and it would feel so good to let somebody else know the truth, somebody who could be trusted. She didn't know how Aegwynn would react, but she could brave a guess. Turning, with something on her lips that was a rebellious grimace rather than a smile, she spoke in a low voice.

"Elope… no."

Aegwynn watched her for a moment, as if to make sure that Jaina wasn't kidding. Then the old woman chuckled, hoarsely and warm. She stepped closer, murmuring with the guards in mind.

"This is absolutely rich," she said. "I trust you've talked it through properly?"

"We've met a few times and tried to plan for all eventualities," Jaina said, nodding. But inwardly, she winced.

Jealous elf princes had been included in the part about "our enemies will either hate this or use it against us" – however, neither of them had counted on somebody finding out anything beforehand. This was not good at all. Jaina spun around, hands clenching.

"I have to warn him about Kael'thas…"

She didn't see Aegwynn's amused, but gently slanted smile. Almost anyone else would have said something along the lines of "right now?". But the aged sorceress, who never sat inactive during her time as Guardian, simply let her silence speak – and did nothing to stop the events from unfolding.

The magical rune which Jaina used to call Thrall to their meeting point on the butte laid on her bed table, and now she snatched it up. No need to focus, thoughts of the Warchief swam in her mind. His rune probably flared up instead of glowed. She held hers for a second, then put it down briefly and grasped it again. If he saw the rune shine twice in a quick succession, he should understand that something unusual was about. She could think of no other way to quickly warn him of what she intended.

After a moment the rune she held glowed in reply, casting a pale light over her chest and arms. Grimly, Jaina closed her eyes and concentrated, mentally reaching for the spell connecting the item in her hand with the one Thrall currently gripped. She didn't know where he was, she had never been in Orgrimmar, but she could trace the magic and follow it.

Furious at the prince and worried about what he might be planning, she hurried onwards without hesitating. Before Aegwynn's eyes, the Lady sorceress flashed out of existence and was gone.

Still smiling, and shaking her head, Aegwynn folded her arms across her chest.

"Shouldn't you put on something more than a nightdress and a morning coat first?" she mildly asked the air. Then she turned and went towards the door, to tell the guards some lie about Jaina taking off to see the mages of Dalaran – or some other plausible rot – about this issue.

* * *

The room was simple, unsurprisingly. Rounded, with no real corners, just like orcs preferred their buildings. There were only a few pieces of furniture, a couple of animal skins on the sand colored floor. A brownish tapestry with some pattern adorned the wall, and threads of beads and various small items hung on either side of it. Gifts from the tauren and Darkspears most certainly, but Jaina's first impression was too brief to allow for details.

Having been too forceful as she cast the teleportation spell she stumbled on her feet but quickly regained her balance, taking in the entire room in a flash. The image of Orgrim Doomhammer's armor resting on a stand swept right into her mind.

And then finally seeing Thrall, watching her with his fleshy eyebrows raised, barefoot and bare-chested – _oops_ – but luckily, the words were already on her lips and they momentarily swatted away the situation.

"Kael'thas knows!"

" _What_?"

He threw his rune aside. It landed on his bed and bounced on the blanket, forgotten as Thrall and Jaina met in the middle of the floor. Without even considering it she sent her rune the same way as his. Neither of them thought twice of it, not while she told him about the visit from the elf prince.

No guards barged in, called by his initial snarl – despite his surprise, he managed to keep his voice low. Jaina thought little of that for the moment, but later she would feel relieved that she had not been discovered in his quarters at that time. Not that she would have been harmed, indeed the orcs might not have thought too much about it – apart from thinking their Warchief's taste in women rather odd, as they would continue to do. A word from Thrall would have stopped them from spreading this news, too. But it certainly would not have made the situation any less embarrassing, once the anger settled.

Thrall listened to her tale mostly in silence, though his lips drew away from his fangs, and a snorting growl rose from his throat when she – after a moment's hesitation – recounted Kael'thas leaving threat.

"They must have used scrying spells while we were talking on the butte," Jaina said as she finished the story, gritting her teeth. "And if he knows, then who else does?"

"Indeed. We better bring more guards to the meeting. Curses!" Thrall stomped his foot, his orcish heritage apparently overriding his human upbringing – but even if Jaina had not known that this was a legitimate expression for anger to his people, the movement was too powerful to seem childish. "I see we believed too much in the safety of the butte being tall."

"No, I should have sensed spying arcane magic if it got too close," Jaina said, placing her hand on his bare arm to calm him. "Judging by what he said, his spies could not have heard us speak, only watched. They cannot know the details."

"And if they used far sight, the spirits should have warned me." Thrall's bulging muscles relaxed just a fraction, and he shook his head. "Still, I see we were foolish."

"Yes," Jaina agreed with a grim nod. "But they could not spy on us in here, even with far sight, could they?"

"No, that power cannot see through walls." Sighing, he allowed his tension to settle down – but he still frowned as he went on, watching her. Gingerly he plucked her hand from his arm, holding it. "I will not let this shake my resolve."

Although he did not say it, she could read it in his eyes. _No man, no woman or demon is going to tell me who I can and cannot marry._

Jaina nodded agreement, both to his spoken and silent words.

"Neither will I," she said. "I will call mages I trust to aid my guards."

"And I shamans. If the prince wishes to cause trouble, he will find it a bloody challenge." He shook his head with a snarl, the sound and motion worthy of a ferocious beast. His loose, black hair only made that image stronger – no longer trapped in braids it looked very much like a mane framing his face.

Watching him now, with the graceful elf prince fresh in mind, Thrall seemed even bulkier and darker than usual to Jaina. A towering giant, normally hidden scars crisscrossing his green skin in tears and ridges, and she only knew where he had gained a fraction of them. Many of the scars on her own body were from those few, insane weeks they had fought together.

Memories on their skin.

With the surprise and anger settled in plans, the scope of their current circumstances struck them both at just about the same time. Jaina cleared her throat, and as she did, Thrall cast his gaze about before letting it return to her face.

"I apologize," she said, "perhaps I acted a little quick, but I felt that I had to tell you about Kael'thas."

Thrall shook his head.

"No," he said. "You surprised me, but I would have wanted to know immediately. This is too serious to let wait."

"Very well. I should, really-" She started to turn away.

It was just the slightest squeeze of her hand.

Jaina stopped, and looked around to meet Thrall's gaze.

"I would feel better knowing you were away from nightly visitors," he said. When she opened her mouth to speak, he added, "I fully believe you could deal with a threat. However, should the elf prince have something else to add, I would like to let him hear my thoughts on the matter as well as yours."

A runaway thought toyed with the question of how exactly the well-expressed Warchief would tell Prince Kael'thas to go to hell. It drowned, however, in the realization that Thrall asked her to stay with him.

He must have read something in her eyes, because he actually winced and held up his other hand.

"No, I'm not saying that… hm, what he had the audacity to accuse you, us, of, is not what I mean."

For a moment he looked away, and she stood there, mute. Finally he turned back to her.

"We left that subject on the first day. Perhaps it was a mistake, since we never returned to it." Thrall rubbed his fingertips against his scalp. Embarrassment did not suit him at all – utterly bizarre. Looking up at him, Jaina clenched her teeth. Her fingers brushed against his in a brief squeeze.

They had both known since day one that it had to be spoken of sooner or later, and for all her thinking about it, she could find no words now.

Thrall decisively shook his head and looked her in the eyes.

"I'm not, and I won't ask of you to share my bed in that sense, Jaina. It's something you have to be absolutely certain of."

She had not blushed in years, and she didn't do so now either. It was, however, the closest to it she had come in quite some time. Just his stoic worry for her welfare sent a whispering thrill through her. One small, deeply buried part of her laughed hysterically at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Them, two of the most important leaders in the world, desperately trying to weave through a painfully awkward subject – and neither of them fully dressed. There were apparently things that not even facing down demons could prepare you for.

Watching him watching her like that – three hundred pounds of brutal strength and intelligence as sharp as a sword, coupled with magical prowess to match her own power, and all of it gazing at her with blue eyes filled with honest concern – it struck her just how wildly in love with him she really was.

Not an emotion proper for a sorceress or a woman of her status. Kael'thas, and all who agreed with him, would certainly condemn her doubly for it. Knowing that only made the feeling sweeter, when it already made her heart race – and seeing Thrall so utterly mortified threatened to break the same heart. It was far more than his pride should have to bear.

Reaching out with her free hand she touched his trunk-like neck, digging her fingers into the thick black hair spilling over his shoulder.

"I won't lie to you and claim that the thought of it doesn't make me nervous," she murmured. "But I truly wish to share your bed." One corner of her lips stretched slightly. "If you'll have me."

The last was a weak attempt to ease the tension, coaxed by that buried, laughing part of her – but Thrall softly snorted in reply.

"You must understand," he said, and for the first time ever his huge hand brushed against her cheek, "it's not as if I don't want you here."

Save that orcish kind of a kiss at the end of their last meeting, there had always been a certain cautiousness about the way he touched her. There was still a lightness about it, his green skin, hardened by tools of war stroking her face.

"I'm- most relieved," Jaina said, and the joke would have been so much better if her wits had still been with her and not dancing around the ceiling.

His lips twitched.

"Good," he said, yet his tone became more serious as he continued. "But no, rest assured. Not even four days from now, not until you don't feel nervous anymore."

There was a senseless stitch of regret for telling him about her anxiety, but at the same time she felt more than grateful for his assurances. Crossing this conversational bridge lifted a rock from her heart, and judging by the look on his face he felt the same.

Part of her wondered about his experience in this particular subject, but she certainly did not have gall enough bring that up. Although, that begged the question, really… because he had half a country that doubtlessly would throw themselves around his neck if he just looked at them right, but he was certainly not the kind to make use of his status in such ways.

She shook off those thoughts and touched his hand on her cheek. He had opened the doors with his honesty, and this invitation to confess the truth she could not squander even when it churned her stomach.

"There's something I should have brought up as well, since we're speaking of these things." She looked away briefly, and his hand sunk from her face to her shoulder. Taking in deep breath Jaina steeled herself and faced him again. "I'm not a maiden."

He raised a hairless eyebrow. It was only a brief moment, but the answer seemed, to her, to take forever.

"True," he finally said. "That is something vital to humans, isn't it?"

Jaina's shoulders fell in relief, and she nodded.

"Not absolutely vital perhaps," she said, "but very important. For women, at least."

She could have said a lot about double standards and slanted philosophies, but she felt little interest for her own culture now that such an important subject in it had been pushed aside. Even more distracting, how as he nodded understanding, a flash in his eyes said that he recalled a certain someone who had been an unwilling mistress.

Seeing that, Jaina clenched her teeth hard and touched his arm. Fool, fool, why hadn't she realized what kind of memories those words would summon?

"We are a warrior race, after all," Thrall said, pulling himself together. "There's pressure of loved ones going to battle, and relief of returning alive, that sometimes does not allow for the time to do things properly."

Although carefully, Jaina relaxed at his calm and his words.

"Still, in many ways your people value family more deeply than we do," she said. "I wasn't sure how you would react."

He shook his head.

"Think nothing of it. But," he said, voice suddenly softer, "who, Arthas?"

Jaina winced, feeling his fingers clench the tiniest bit as she did. Slowly, she nodded.

"He…"

She fell silent, wanted to say that Arthas had been a good man once, that he had been kind and meant well but she still should have known better. However, the way Thrall watched her said that she had no need to explain herself or excuse her choices. There truly was no judgment in his eyes, only knowledge of what she had lost. In the silence, his gaze held her.

Swallowing hard, Jaina shook her head.

"I made a mistake, I shouldn't have let it happen," she said, her voice not coming out the way she had planned.

All the wrong voice, as it turned out, because the calm look in Thrall's eyes shattered when he frowned. Jaina blinked at the sudden suspicion, then realized just what little she had said, in such a vulnerable tone, may be misinterpreted as. She quickly shook her head again, and spoke with proper strength.

"No, no. He didn't force me. Both of us were just young and stupid."

The way his shoulders sunk showed just how much he had tensed in that instant.

"Then past is past, in my eyes," he murmured.

He made no threats as to what he would have done if Arthas _had_ forced her. It wasn't needed – and they both knew what she herself was able to accomplish. His pick of words, and the growl hiding behind them, were enough. Even mighty sorceresses don't necessarily have to fight alone.

The memories were bitter, but the prince was a ghost inside her head, and Thrall was real.

"Come a little closer," Jaina said, making a small motion towards herself.

Did the Warchief ever receive an order? But he obeyed, watching her face as he bent forwards. Jaina rose up on her tiptoes to meet him, and brushed her forehead against his. A moment, a breath, then he straightened up and drew her close.

That massive, green chest was literally like a warm wall of muscles and pressing her hands against him Jaina could feel his pulse through her fingertips. Kael'thas' actions and the memory of Arthas brought this about, but she no longer thought of either of them. Only this, Thrall's warmth, his heartbeat, and a faint smell of smoke and metal on his skin.

His grip relaxed after a brief silence, and she leant backwards against his arms to meet his gaze.

"I'll stay," she said. "I trust you."

Perhaps the words weren't necessary, but she wanted to speak them out.

"I'm glad," he said, and something about his soft tone made her suck in her lower lip. But he didn't see that.

Turning around, Thrall bent down and collected the two runes from where they had been thrown onto the bed. In his grip one of the stones glowed intensively, until he put them both on the closest table by the wall.

The magical light made Jaina smile in such a way that she felt compelled to hide her mouth behind one hand. Neither of them commented.

Seeing as Thrall was looking away for a moment, she used that opportunity to shake off her morning coat. No, it should not have felt as if it was an opportunity, not when they had such plans, not when they had talked like this. Yet the situation was still so new, vulnerable against a feeling of awkwardness.

All her moving around had long since opened the morning coat at the front, and now she let it slide off her shoulders. Catching it in her hands she brought it up in front of her and folded it. Halfway through the motions she felt Thrall's gaze back on her, but she steeled herself against any sense of discomfort. After just a moment's hesitation she dropped the bundle at the foot of the bed. Whether or not it fell down during the night, she couldn't be bothered to care at that point.

They didn't speak, guarded against the embarrassment as if it were a vicious monster that could slaughter both of them if a single word gave away their position. So it was in silence that Thrall sat down on the bed and moved closer to the wall to give her space, and she laid down beside him.

The bed felt rather hard beneath her, but the cloth of the mattress, and the blanket he pulled up over both of them, were soft.

Some shuffling followed, both of them trying to figure out what exactly this was supposed to be. But it felt easier then, once they had actually laid down, and finally Jaina relaxed with her head on his shoulder. It struck her then that she had no idea whether there were other things than just kisses that diverged human and orc preferences in situations such as this. Yet Thrall must be aware of that possibility as well. Still, she watched his face, listened to his breath for the slightest sign as she snaked one arm around his neck. Black locks of hair tickled against her arm, and she buried her fingers in them.

The only reaction was a smile, and Thrall closed the embrace with his free arm.

"Sleep well," he murmured.

Although Jaina mumbled something in agreement and closed her eyes, she was fully aware that it would probably take quite a while until either of them fell asleep. Inability to sleep actually did not feel like such a bad thing, for once.

She recalled an old poem where a woman described her lover's arms as a fort. It had stuck in Jaina's mind mainly because the overly flowery language turned the text ridiculous rather than romantic. Lying beside Thrall, however, she reflected that there was some truth in those verses after all, although this kind of man certainly had not been on the author's mind. Stretched over her waist and bending to rest against the mattress behind her, his thick arm definitely brought a wall to mind – not to hide behind, as in the poem, but in plain practicality.

As she let her tired body sink further against Thrall's warm bulk, she spared a thought for the elf prince whose provocation had inadvertently brought her here. She held back a snort, squeezing Thrall's neck instead. His big fingertips rubbed against her back in silent reply, then relaxed again.

Had she known what Kael'thas was doing right then, in his fury, she would have become physically ill both at his actions and at the knowledge that once, she had regarded him as a good friend.


	4. History

It happened, sometimes, that Aedelas Blackmoore decided that his near-adult "pet" had done well enough to deserve a certain kind of reward. At those times, in the evening light, a couple of guards brought one or another young orc woman to Thrall's cell, her teeth clenched so hard that her jaw might have broken.

The first time, he didn't understand until he saw the smirks on the guards' faces as they pushed the woman inside, locked the door and walked away.

He couldn't even now put into words how disgusting it made him feel, what they expected him to do and be grateful of.

What ever really happened was that he got a rare occasion of speaking with one of his own kind in peace. Before that could be, though, he had to convince that tense woman – a new one each time – that he really had no intention of touching her.

They did all believe him, finally, but he still saw their cautious eyes, ever waiting to be asked anyway. He never did.

He told Jaina of this in the early morning, when crisp light filtered through the curtains covering the windows. She watched him all the while, a gaze he met even as it grew unbearably pained. Her hand moved, fumbling over his jaw line and cheek.

It was never his intention to cause her pain, but he needed her to know. Seeing what it did to her filled his chest with a swelling feeling, a torturous brew of regret and sadness and gratitude for her silence, her clumsy caress, the empathy – not pity, and that difference meant the world – in her eyes.

Never had he spoken much about his youth, not with anyone – and never, ever about this. The disgust was still there, but speaking of it with Jaina eased the memories. An act of cleansing, of sorts, to honor those women who had been meant for abuse. It got easier then, to recall not only their thin lips and tense bodies, but the careful relief when they understood that he really had no intention to stand up from his corner and grab their wrists.

But the most painful thing to admit was that it hadn't been as easy as it should have been, to leave those women in peace. He had to battle with himself, against that desperate wish for a touch that wasn't a tear or blow. Every time guarding his eyes not to look at the woman sitting there at the other side of the cell in a simple, too thin dress, so agonizingly close. Spirits knew if he would have been strong enough if any of them had reached out to touch him, even innocently.

In his darkest moments he wondered if he controlled himself only because he knew that Blackmoore expected him to be grateful, but he could not be. In his brightest, he knew it was because Tari would have despised him, and he was a better person than that. Often, though, the darker moments were more plentiful than the bright.

These occasions were thankfully rare, because the admiral seldom felt kind at that point in time, his drinking having taken over more and more. So there were only a handful of orc women who this happened to – although Thrall never did hurt them, they still had to bear the fear of being abused before he convinced them otherwise. Not all of them survived the battle for freedom. But if they lived, they remembered well that night spent in a cell with the future Warchief, speaking in low voices until both of them fell asleep at opposite sides of the prison.

It filled him with a sense of fascination, how after the camps they always seemed to find those neigh-nonexistent moments when he was not in the middle of preparing troops, arranging the journey westwards, in battle, or deep in planning with Drek'Thar and everyone else.

How closely had they watched him, waiting for a chance? And were they aware of each other, since only one voice murmured with the guards outside his tent, and only one pair of feet sounded against the ground at any time?

" _I wanted to say thank you, Warchief, although I don't know if you remember me."_

They all said similar things, one way or another. He did remember all of them.

Few as they were he had managed to keep a distant track of them – most had mates by now, all of them far away. One fought her way into the Kor'kron Elite, and died on Hyjal.

To him, and most probably for Jaina as well, it was only him being as honest with her as she had been the night before, when confessing that she had been Arthas' lover. He didn't really realize that opening up to her like this was an act of seduction for both of them.

Silence settled as he stopped talking. Just watching each other, her with her head on his arm, each shadow on her face soft in the first light of dawn.

"I don't want people thinking you forced me to anything," Jaina finally murmured, her thumb brushing against his cheek. "It's not fair to you."

He pushed himself up a little to be able to shake his head.

"Some will think it no matter what," he said, laying back. "Our allies will understand that I didn't. The only thing I care about in this matter, is that you don't feel pressured."

"No, no, no…"

As if to make a point she shifted, shuffling closer. Spirits, her night dress did nothing to keep the warmth of her body away from his skin, no more than it had done during the night. Even now he had no idea how much, or little, sleep he had gotten. The smell of her hair filled his nostrils, and blond strands flitted against his thick skin when she moved. He could hardly believe that he could feel the tiny brush, as light as it was. The warmth, also, because he knew he was warmer than her. Her body heat too seemed so much more soft and delicate.

The cell was so fresh in mind it seared into his thoughts, but he wrestled it aside with an ease that surprised him. No, this was nothing like that, it may as well have been another world entirely. How strange it was, really. When he had oh so secretly thought of Jaina before she proposed, and even after, he had never dared to dream that she would really be able to so completely relax against him as she had in the night.

This wasn't relaxing, though. She moved with determination, and the arm around his neck was strong – loudly arguing against the panicked voice in the back of his head which feared that she was so much more frail than she really was. No, nowhere near his own strength or even that of a regular woman of his race, but far from weak.

His own arm followed her motion, resting against her back as she settled and spoke. It took a couple of words to pull him out of his stupor.

"Thinking back on your initial reaction to the proposal, I almost feel like I'm the one pressuring you," she said. Her smile widened to a grin when he stared at her for a moment, then chuckled.

Loosening up she drew her arm back, splaying her fingers against his chest as if for support. They too seemed so small and soft, he could hardly think of anything else for a moment.

"Are you worried about what Vol'jin and everyone else will say?" she asked suddenly, straightening slightly.

The question was a little surprising, but they had been speaking their allies. Thrall still found himself begrudging the return to practicalities, but accepted it.

"I have sent for Drek'Thar… and a message for my grandmother, saying I will have important news for her soon." He paused, then shook his head with a sigh. "I don't think that many will like it, initially. Given time, though…" He gave his head another shake, looking at her. All those things he would face in time, and worrying would do no good. "What of your side?"

"To be honest, Aegwynn made a correct guess last night when I discussed Kael'thas before coming here," Jaina said, lips stretching. "She was very amused."

She was silent for a little while. He waited, just humming briefly in reply to her revelation about the old sorceress. It did not bother him much if the former Guardian had found out the truth, knowing well how Jaina trusted that woman.

Finally, Jaina spoke again, and her smile disappeared.

"Tandred…" She stopped and sighed. "I don't know what he will say. I'm composing letters in my head all the time." Still speaking, she bowed her head beneath his chin. "In a way I really want him to know the truth about this, but I'm not sure if he could handle it."

Thrall let out a deep breath, shifting to touch her shoulder as he often did. In this, he could not speak, could not help her. When it came to the last shreds of her family there was too much guilt for him to act, no matter that she did not blame him.

"He's not like father, he isn't, but I just don't know," Jaina murmured. "I can't brave a guess of his reaction. Light, I want him to accept it."

Feeling her hand ball against his chest, he reached down and enclosed her fist in his. There, her fingers relaxed at least a fraction.

She exhaled slowly, breath flowing down between them.

"It will hurt if he doesn't accept it, but if so, then so be it," she said, resolve returning to her voice. "Kul Tiras is as far away as everything else."

_You chose an orc over your own kin again._

"You've always been stronger than you should have had to be," he murmured.

"Look who's talking…"

Her half-hearted mumble faltered when he shook his head and rolled over fully on his back, pulling her along so that she ended up draped across his chest. It was a gamble of sorts, and he took it in the terse moment, even though pressing her so close to him, and then just staying right there, was nearly unbearable. But no, not before Jaina said it was fine, not a step further until then. Her calm and touches now only proved that she trusted him.

"Should you need support, you know where to find it." He was quite surprised at how composed his voice sounded.

Only after a moment did she reply, leaning her forehead against his jaw line. It was enough to take his breath away too. Just a murmur, and then she snaked her soft arms around his neck again. Right then he really wanted to ignore everything duty had to call him with, and just remain where he was instead of returning to his daily role as Warchief. He would not disregard his obligations, but he wanted to.

* * *

In the Valley of Spirits, a portal opened beneath the midday sun.

The grunts standing by the official landing point of this mage spell looked up, eying the robed troll woman stepping through and onto the wooden plateau. A male orc in full armor followed, but he moved strangely slow, half turned and with his arm lingering inside the hole in the air. The guards who stood well enough to see through the portal caught a glance of rolling green hills and trees, but there were a lot of orcs on the other side, blocking the view.

Orcs that did not have green skin.

The plated orc moved his arm closer, supporting the woman who carefully stepped through the portal after him. Long, grey hair framed her wrinkled, brown skinned face, and she squinted at the world around her with a curious hunger hampered by her obviously bad eyesight. Although she hunched slightly, every move was driven by determination.

With orcish gentleness the warrior supported her steps further away, as more orcs with the uncorrupted, brown skin color entered Orgrimmar. A bench stood by the edge of the plateau, for those who wanted to sit and look across the valley and listen to the trickling water. The old orc woman sat down when helped to it, but she kept gazing about without a hint of exhaust.

The grunts stared, until the warrior looked around at them and spoke.

"Tell the Warchief that his grandmother has arrived."

The rumor spread like wildfire through the city. By the time that Thrall reached the valley – not even remembering the discussion he simply abandoned to come to meet her – the path was crowded. As soon as people noticed the Kor'kron Elites, however, they quickly moved aside to make way for the Warchief. Many stepped into the shallow lake to get out of the way.

Greatmother Geyah stood up as Thrall climbed the stairs to the plateau, hearing and seeing well enough to recognize him despite her ailing senses.

"Go'el," she said in her warm, rough voice.

"Grandmother."

He took her thin hands into his young, strong ones, staring down at her with a great mixture of emotions. As much as his chest swelled with joy at seeing her again, concern muddled the surprise.

"Are you well enough to come here?" he asked, muttering to her in a low voice.

At that, she snorted.

"Nonsense," she said. "I'm not that sick."

_Yet._

She was far from healthy, they both knew it, and even a journey supported by magic could not be good for her. But she gazed up at him through the mist hanging over her sight, scowl bespeaking only resolve. The spirits flocked around the two of them, whispering their warm welcome so fervently that wisps of the two orcs' hair fluttered without aid of the wind.

"Show me your city," Geyah said.

Nodding, he bent down and picked her up into his arms. Well enough if she decided that she was fit to travel through magical portals, but he would not have her walk through Orgrimmar. She scowled at him for a moment, but that had eased up by the time he reached the bottom of the stair.

In the back of his mind he noted that she, unsurprisingly, weighed a good deal more than Jaina. Not that it bothered him, but the thought was difficult to deal with and so he pushed it aside.

"What of the Mag'har?" he asked.

The crowd spread out to make way for him, the Elites, and the handful of Mag'har warriors who also had entered through the portal. At a sideway nod, his guards fanned out not to block the old woman's sight.

"They can do without me for a day," Geyah replied, sounding somewhat distracted as she threw her gaze all around them. Then she looked straight up at him, smiling. "Garrosh can take care of things, now."

Thrall breathed in deeply, this simple comment sweeping over him like a warm wave. It was good to hear of Grom's legacy.

They reached the end of the Valley of Spirits, where the path winded precariously along the cliff, high above the city itself. Here he stopped, and the guards moved aside so that the view laid open to Geyah.

"This is Orgrimmar," Thrall said.

She probably could not see much more of the city than blurred outlines and colors, but that was enough to let her understand the size of the place, and the great amount of inhabitants – orcs and otherwise. She didn't say a word, but the intake of breath bespoke her feelings.

Looking at the city his people had constructed always did fill Thrall with a sense of pride, but since he saw it everyday it had begun to turn into a commonplace feeling. Now it was renewed, and he gazed upon the rooftops as if for the first time, lips stretching wide.

After a little while he turned and continued. He could have gone straight to Grommash Hold from there, but instead he carefully walked over the rope bridge connecting the cliff path with the flight tower, and made his way down to the ground level. From the Valley of Strength he took the path towards and through the Drag.

As he walked, an unusual hush fell over Orgrimmar. People lined the streets, stretching and straining to catch a glimpse of the revered grandmother of the Warchief. Not cheering, one did not greet an aged, spiritual leader with cheers, but with smiles and bows.

It was quite a long walk, and he chose to save the Valley of Honor until later, to let Geyah rest for a bit first. She would never admit it, but he saw the curiosity in her eyes strained with exhaust. And to be honest, his arms began to hurt after such a long time carrying her.

He only paused at one point. Walking out of the shaded Drag, he walked through another shadow and then turned as soon as they bathed in the sunlight. She squinted at the dark outline of a fat, dead tree, surely noticing that there was something odd about it. The Mag'har warriors gazed up at it too, muttering amongst themselves and the Elites.

"It's our monument to the demon Mannoroth's death. Can you see his skull up there?" Thrall said.

Her brow furrowed and she shifted in his arms, teeth bared.

"If ever I wished my eyesight was better again," she growled, her voice deep inside her throat. Then she settled back, shaking her head. "I can't see it, but I believe you when you say it's there."

He considered having it taken down for her sake, but her tone was final at the last comment. Bringing the huge skull to the ground would take some time and be quite a dangerous project, too. She would probably only see it as an unnecessary endeavor.

Neither of them commented, but Grom, and his son, was on both their minds as Thrall continued into the hold named after the hero who killed Mannoroth.

The Warchief gave an order for the Mag'har to be given accommodations and to be shown anywhere they wanted to go inside Orgrimmar. He also called for food to be brought to his room, making it clear that he would speak with his grandmother alone. She didn't make a comment, but he noticed her gratefully sag against his chest plate as he slowly climbed the stairs to his own quarters.

After closing the door, he set her down on the softest rug on the floor before sitting down before her. Now that they were alone, she actually allowed her fatigue to shine through in lowered eyelids and slumping shoulders.

"Grandmother…" he started, frowning deeply.

"Don't say anything foolish," she said, looking up. The tiredness swept away under the force of her mind. "I will never regret coming here to see this. The memory will give me strength for quite some time."

There was a knock on the door, and two orc women entered carrying trays with meat, fruit and drink. Setting their burdens down before the Warchief and the Greatmother, they respectfully saluted and left again.

"What is this?" Geyah asked, grasping and lifting an orange up to her face to see better.

He had to smile, forgetting his worry for a moment. If she was well enough to be curious about a fruit, she could not be ailing as badly as he had feared.

"There are crops and other things in this world very different from what grows on Draenor," he said, reaching out to take the orange. "This one has to be peeled before eaten."

With relief, he saw how the meal refreshed her and gave her new strength to sit straight and proud. She made him peel more than just the first orange, the sweet taste with its sour tang apparently to her taste.

Yet there was something on his mind, and when she finally pushed her tray aside with a grateful sigh, he chose to breach the subject.

"I'm very happy to see you again," he carefully started, "but why have you chosen to come here today, so suddenly?"

She watched him, hands in her lap.

"I had planned to visit your city someday," she said. "The reason I arrived today is that the spirits told me that a great change would soon occur in your life. When your messenger arrived, I took it as a sign."

Slowly, he nodded. This, that she would make her way to Orgrimmar, he had not expected, but although worry about what she might think clenched his gut, he felt grateful. The idea of simply letting even her know after the fact had filled him with unease. It was not right.

This was.

"Yes, and I'm glad to be able to tell you the truth face to face," he said.

When they first met in Garadar, one of the many things he had told her was the story of the human leader who allied her people with his forces, and then rather betrayed her own father than the peace with the orcs. He had recounted his friendship with Jaina even past that, not only their battle against the Burning Blade but their meetings and his respect for her.

Geyah listened in silence as he told her the secret plans, face unmoving.

"I had no intention to deceive you," he finished. "But you must understand, there are many enemies of ours who would stop at nothing to hinder this. Therefore I did not send a clear message to you."

She nodded, but it was a distracted motion. She listened to other voices than his for a moment, contemplating what she had been told already.

"This secrecy is not an orcish way of doing things," she finally said.

"I know that well. But just last night, Jaina received a threat from one of Illidan Stormrage's servants, the blood elf Prince Sunstrider. We need to be careful."

"And what would it change, if your enemies learns of this before or after you take this human as your mate? Is the threat gone, then?" It was only half sarcastic, so it didn't burn.

Thrall shook his head.

"This is a political arrangement," he said. "We wish to show both our peoples that war is out of the question. Once she officially becomes my mate, our lands, and the people, are one and the same even by human law. Certainly there will be threats and perhaps even attacks, but that will not change the situation."

For a little while, she was silent, pondering.

"I have only seen a few humans, and never bothered to look too closely as most of them were dead," she eventually said. "You spoke warmly of this Jaina before, but their kind are very different from us, aren't they?"

It was a relief that she did not condemn him or call him foolish, despite the Alliance scouts making their way through Draenor, and her knowing what humans had done to orcs in the past.

Of course she had heard of the abuse that the orcs on Azeroth had suffered after the second war. He himself was the one who told her of his own childhood and youth as a slave under Blackmoore. Yet he had also told her of Taretha, and the battle on Hyjal was a highlight of his story.

Neither did Geyah question what the orcs, and Jaina's people, would have to say about this change. But orcs follow their leaders, not unquestioning at all times, but he sometimes felt that his race did know more about loyalty than humans. And who was ever to tell the Warchief who he could chose to share his life with?

"They are," he agreed. "I'm sure you might think them strange looking, but I am used to them. She insists that she doesn't mind, and I believe it's true."

"Hmm."

He had anticipated her next words throughout the whole discussion, so much that his muscles were already tensed to action when she spoke.

"I would like to see this strange human woman."

"It can be arranged." He stood up and walked to the table where the magical rune laid. "But she doesn't speak our language, apart from a few words. I will have to translate."

His fingers curled around the stone, enclosing it in his hand. After a moment he loosened the grip and let the rune slide back onto the table, waited for a second and then grasped it again. Jaina and he had agreed, in the morning, that making the runes glow twice was a useful sign. They decided then that it was to signal the wish for an immediate meeting. He could not be sure that she saw her own rune right at the moment – she might be busy elsewhere.

To be honest, he did not know whether to wish that she would notice the signal, or that she would not. In an ideal situation, all three of them should have gotten time to prepare for this kind of meeting.

While waiting for the reply, he gave a quick explanation of what he was doing, as Geyah gave him a curious look. Hardly had he finished speaking before the rune in his hand glowed. He dropped it on the table, as a tingling sound rang out and Jaina appeared out of thin air in front of him, her mage's staff in hand.

"Did anything happen?" she asked, frown cutting deep into her forehead. It all showed how fresh Kael'thas' threat remained in her mind.

She was tense, feet moved apart in a defensive stance beneath the white, flowing hem of her dress. Every bit a warrior ready to help defend the one who summoned her.

"No, no, nothing like that," Thrall said, controlling his grin. Her appearance could not have been better. "Do you have a moment? My grandmother is here."

Her shoulders sunk and the frown eased at his first sentence. The last one made her blink and look around. Geyah had not moved from her position on the rug, watching the two youngsters as intently as her sight allowed.

"I suppose I won't need this, then," Jaina said, composing herself admirably fast after this surprise. She leant the staff against the wall and followed Thrall to the rug.

As he sat down he indicated with his hand at Jaina to sit in front of Geyah – he placed himself so that he would be to the side, between them. Jaina moved to the spot he had motioned at, but paused to press a fist to her chest.

"Throm-Ka," she said.

Geyah's lips twitched the tiniest bit, but it was hard to say if it was because she appreciated the gesture, or amusement at Jaina's accented Orcish.

"Aka'Magosh," Geyah replied, returning the greeting with a well-wish.

Silently praying to the spirits that this would go well, Thrall felt a little more at ease at his grandmother's warm tone. When Jaina sat down, the old woman leant forwards slightly and eyed the sorceress in silence for a few moments. This, Jaina bore with mostly calm, although her careful smile said that she was not sure what to expect. At no point, however, did she glance towards Thrall for help, but steadily watched Geyah the whole time.

Finally Geyah sat back and looked at her grandson.

"Does she always appear before you ready to do battle with any enemy you might face?" she asked, obviously amused.

"We are both a bit on edge after the threat from the blood elf prince," Thrall replied. He could do nothing but smile.

"Fair enough. She reeks of magic, but the spirits do not flee from her."

"I have never seen them do so. It is not our kind of magic, but neither is it the warlocks' foul arts."

Jaina listened to this brief conversation in Orcish with curiosity written on her face, but she calmly waited it out. One or two words here and there she probably recognized, but aside from that she could only rely on the tones and expressions of the two orcs for hints.

Shaking her head slightly, Geyah looked back to the human woman. The smile on the brown lips thoughtfully softened.

"If you find her worthy, and she is willing, then that is well and good," she said, turning her eyes towards Thrall again. "But can she bear a child of our blood?"

Thrall's fingers curled until his nails dug into his palm. It was a worrisome subject she brought up, a sequel to that which he and Jaina had discussed during the night. Still, he turned to Jaina and translated Geyah's concern, as well as the mild approval. The blonde, slowly lowering eyebrows showed that the words caused a feeling of worry, but Jaina did not look surprised in the least.

Finally, she slowly nodded and her face relaxed.

"Orcs and humans can have children together, it's a known fact," she said, looking at Geyah first, then between her and Thrall as she continued. "I'm not afraid for my own sake. It can be done without harming the mother or the baby. But," she watched Thrall from this word on, speaking softly, "any child of ours will have a near impossibly heavy legacy to bear."

He reached out and touched her shoulder without thinking, the truth of her statement clenching his chest. It took a second before he turned his eyes away and translated to Geyah, who watched both of them in silence.

"There are a number of half-orcs living in Orgrimmar, some with their parents," he added to her.

Very few with more than one parent, however, for various reasons.

"She is wise to look that far ahead with such eyes." Geyah watched Jaina's face for a moment longer, then reached forwards and grasped one of her hands.

Jaina didn't make a move to pull away, letting the brown, wrinkled hand turn her pink, smooth one over. The difference in color was as striking as that in size.

"You are not what I would have expected for a granddaughter-in-law," Geyah said, speaking to Jaina directly for the first time. "I cannot say if it suits our traditions. But Go'el would make a home and not a conquered battlefield of this world, and you are a child of it. Since he thinks this highly of you, I will respect what the two of you have chosen to do."

There was a certain wryness to her statement, especially with the slanted little smile. Thrall still translated all of it without softening the edges. Not as if Jaina could not handle it. Really, complete support would not only have been too much to ask for, but also hard to believe in.

He had not finished the translation when Jaina respectfully bowed her head, and she stayed that way all the way through.

"You truly honor me, Greatmother."

Nodding as she heard the translation to Orcish, Geyah let go of Jaina's hand and touched the younger woman's forehead with two fingertips.

"Go with the spirits, brave human."

She did not think twice of simply dismissing anybody. Thrall on the other hand gave Jaina an apologetic look when explaining, but she merely smiled and bowed her head again before standing up to collect her staff.

"I'm glad, very glad," she said, turning to Thrall as he followed her.

"So am I."

An indecisive moment passed, neither of them certain of what was proper for soon-to-be mates when saying goodbye in front of the Greatmother. They had no real traditions normally; it all depended on what mood they met in.

Finally Thrall touched Jaina's shoulder again, and she nodded understanding.

"I will see you soon," she murmured, and then she was gone. His hand sunk as the support disappeared, tingling briefly with the leftover magic.

He wondered if she would return in the night, but pushed the thought aside as he turned back to his grandmother.

"I'm relieved that you do not think either of us foolish," he said, sitting down before her.

"I think it very odd indeed," she admitted with a shake of her head. "But you are the Warchief, and this is a wholly new world."

"We came here for all the wrong reasons."

"True. With the way things are, embracing this world is probably a better solution."

When he raised his eyebrows at her choice of words, she gave him a shrewd smile.

"I feel rested, and so should your arms," she said before he could comment. "Now, show me the rest of your city."

Shaking his head in disbelief, and with a soft chuckle, he obediently lifted her into his arms again.

The only place he did not show her was the Cleft of Shadow, choosing to ignore that place altogether. The rogues and the warlocks had their place in the Horde, but, especially the latter, always felt like a necessity forced across by the need for power. He'd rather not have them, and he wasn't alone in that opinion, but the warlocks existed and did their part. Unfortunately, far more than their part. For the time being though, the Warchief tried to forget about Neeru Fireblade and his ilk.

Orgrimmar was a home, a city of a kind and populace never before seen in Orcish history. Yet it wasn't perfect. Nothing ever was. But it was beautiful, and grew more so under the warm gaze of his grandmother.

If ever he had worried if what Jaina and he planned was the right thing to do, all traces of concern fled with Geyah's approval. Still neither of them spoke another word about his intended mate for the rest of her stay. The subject was at peace, and best left there.

The Mag'har stayed the night, some of them also remaining behind the next morning when two troll mages combined their powers to make a portal straight back to Garadar.

As he said good-bye to his grandmother and watched her and the other untainted orcs disappear through the portal, Thrall reflected to himself how his life had been shaped by extraordinary women. His closest advisors and allies were mostly men, but it was Taretha and Jaina who broke new ground in acts of defiance, and Geyah who now gave her blessing to his future with a human woman.

The soft sound of Jaina's footsteps in the night underlined these thoughts.

Two more days.


	5. For All To See

The days passed, as they are wont to do.

The sun rose above the horizon, painting the cliffs of Durotar in a deep, warm red. The city was already awakening before the shadows fled, because regardless of what they thought of humans, everyone could agree that the meeting on this day was a special occasion.

Thrall had slept surprisingly well, and only said goodbye to Jaina an hour ago. Walking through his throne room, surrounded by his warriors, he could not quite decide what he felt. A peculiar mix of tension and calm. So many things could go wrong, but the silent orcs in the hall were the ones who could prevent disaster. They had never failed him yet.

Only the finest of orc warriors could hope to belong to the Kor'kron Elite. They had, however, gotten a handful of new members recently, a swelling in ranks seldom experienced before. All of them standing at perfect formation, unmoving, each one holding his or her helmet under one arm, as Thrall stepped up to throne. The Elites took up the right side of the throne room, and a large group of shamans dressed in various kinds of impressive armor stood on the left – just as attentive and silent.

Vol'jin, leading the blind Drek'Thar, followed Thrall, but they both stopped beneath the steps.

The doors to Grommash Hold were closed – the Warchief himself had just seen to that. Several Elites stood by the door to make sure nobody made it through, and trustable guards watched the first door – outside, where they could watch for spies but not hear a word from inside.

"At ease," Thrall said.

Metal clashed in the mighty armors as the Elites and shamans relaxed a little bit.

"As you know," the Warchief went on, "we will soon set off for Ratchet to meet with Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore. It is of absolute importance that nobody, orc, human or otherwise, is harmed during this meeting. We are not going out to war, but to ensure peace between our countries. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, Warchief!"

It was borderline disconcerting how they all managed to speak almost at the same time.

"Good. This is a meeting to reassure the non-aggression pact. You will stand guard around myself and Lady Proudmoore, as will a troop of mages and soldiers from her side. It will be in the open, and there will be a lot of people watching." He frowned as he continued. "Lady Proudmoore has informed me that she recently received a direct threat from the renegade blood elf Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider in connection to this meeting."

He let this sink in for a moment before he went on. Beside the grim Drek'Thar, Vol'jin let hear a low, long growl.

"Lady Proudmoore could not tell whether this threat was meant to be carried out today or at a latter time, however," Thrall said. "Yet there is an apparent risk that there will be an enemy attack targeting both sides. Should this happen, you will meet this assault together with the troops from Theramore. In the remote chance that an attack should strike and incapacitate Lady Proudmoore, her mages and soldiers are instructed to follow my orders. Similarly, should I be harmed, you will be under Lady Proudmoore's command. Understood?"

"Yes, Warchief!"

The mere idea was appalling of course – both the possibility of the Warchief being struck down, and that they may have to take orders from a human. They bore this without a trace of doubt in their voices however.

Thrall nodded, satisfied.

"Lady Proudmoore and I will bring forth several issues during the meeting. To affirm the non-aggression pact, we will speak of the past. She will also voice an official thank you to the warriors who defeated the dragon Onyxia."

Several of the new recruits threw smug glances towards each other, but nobody moved their heads.

"Very well," the Warchief said. "Now, what you are about to hear is absolutely confidential. You will not speak of this to anyone before or after we leave for Ratchet. Should this information reach the public before the meeting, it may drive any enemy of both Durotar and Theramore to make a desperate assault."

Nobody said anything, but Vol'jin narrowed his eyes beneath a very deep frown. Drek'Thar too frowned, unseeing eyes turned towards the sound of his old apprentice's voice. Whatever the Elites and shamans felt, they kept their faces admirably still – though more than one could not keep from watching the Warchief in confusion.

Thrall turned momentarily towards the troll and old orc standing by.

"I will now explain to you and everyone here why I called you to Orgrimmar from Alterac Valley, master Drek'Thar." He turned back to the troops and grimly surveyed them. "At the end of the meeting…"

He told them.

At least five helmets fell to the floor.

Roughly at that time, many miles away, an entire room full of mages and soldiers, and the bishop of Theramore, stared at Jaina. Then Aegwynn threw her head back and laughed so heartily that she had to lean against the wall, having waited several days to see the reactions – and not being disappointed.

Thrall folded his arms across his chest and looked over each and everyone in the very silent throne room.

"Any questions?" he asked, torchlight dancing over his fangs.

"Son of Durotan…"

Drek'Thar's voice could have cut through steel armor. Not moving otherwise, the Warchief turned his head towards the old man – not allowing the sinking feeling in his heart to show. No words, no arguments or protest would dissuade Thrall from going through with what he and Jaina had set forth to do, but doing so without his honored teacher's blessing would be a heavy blow. Perhaps Geyah's support had given him too much hope for understanding?

"Yes, master Drek'Thar?" he said, keeping his voice neutral.

The aged shaman took in a deep breath.

"What I find most shocking," he slowly said, "is the fact that I am not as surprised as I should be." He shook his head, and his grey braids rattled over the armor he wore. "This _is_ the human who allowed her father to be killed rather than break her alliance with us."

"Indeed. Among other things." A renewed spark of hope touched Thrall's heart, but he remained on guard.

A silence followed, as Drek'Thar pondered the situation for a moment – turning his head sideways as if to listen.

"I see," he finally said in an unusually soft tone. "The spirits speak warmly of this. Your legacy as Warchief is indeed a curious one, Go'el."

"Thank you," Thrall said from the bottom of his soul. He then turned his attention to the next person. "I see you wish to speak as well, Vol'jin."

The troll pursed his thick lips in front of tightly clenched teeth.

"I will not question your choices, Warchief," Vol'jin said, his voice low but controlled. "But you know my feelings for the humans, and dey be still the same."

Thrall nodded, squaring his jaw. It was to be expected – for good reasons the troll never trusted the humans, but the suppressed dislike of the whole thing was disheartening. Vol'jin might accept it eventually, grudgingly – he _had_ to accept it, neither he nor Thrall could afford that kind of mistrust between them.

"But your Lady Proudmoore…"

Thrall looked up to see Vol'jin roll his head and shrug.

"… she knows honor, I be givin' her that," the troll chieftain said. "I can't say I'm fond of dis trickery, but she has guts to marry an orc."

"Quite." Thrall could hardly keep from grinning triumphantly. The world's opinion be damned – if he'd won the acceptance of those closest to him, his half of the battle was already won. Well, there were still Cairne, Sylvanas, and the blood elves, but he didn't doubt that the tauren would find this an agreeable arrangement. No telling what Sylvanas and the rulers in Silvermoon would say. That would have to be dealt with in time.

To refrain from grinning he looked at the troops before him. Many of them still stared at him dazedly. Nobody had dared to move even to pick up their dropped helmets.

"That will be all," the Warchief said. "We leave for Ratchet immediately."

"Yes, Warchief!"

It was not so coordinated a shout this time, but they got it done.

* * *

Thousands of people had gathered in the open space outside of Ratchet, and more would probably show up as the meeting wore on. Not that the finer politics interested the larger population, but the sight of orcs and humans gathering to speak with each other – and to boot, their leaders were out in the sun standing face to face – was something to tease others for missing.

Luckily, about half of the audience were goblins, largely inhabitants of Ratchet. They didn't have reason to glare across the gap of space that separated the Alliance crowd from the Horde crowd. Whistles and challenges fouled the air, despite the growls from the goblin bouncers. Some of those people had been waiting since morning, securing themselves a good vantage point. They were getting impatient, and all those enemies were easy target practice for insults. Even better, with the knowledge that they wouldn't dare come over here and return the favor with their fists, haha.

If one had listened, you could have heard dwarves and gnomes grumble about tall people being in the way – and you would also have heard blood elves and Forsaken grumble the same, glaring up at furry or green backs of happily oblivious allies. They would all have been offended if they knew they shared such intense sentiments across factional borders.

Up on the southern cliffs, binoculars moved from numb hand to hand, as the Southsea Freebooters studied the situation. Of course, they had heard that there would be some kind of bigwig meeting today, but…

After careful consideration, the pirates decided that this was a good day to lie very, very low.

Similar techniques to spy on the whole thing was used by Gazlowe, who sat in a comfy chair in his hut with a table of snacks and drink beside him. It had taken some tinkering, but the huge telescope of his observatory now offered his peering eye a perfect view of the meeting place. He would be able to count the hairs tickling the Warchief's forehead, if he wanted.

Of course, by avoiding the crowd and hot sun Gazlowe would, logically, have deprived himself of the whole talking thing. This would have been a shame, had he not experimented with a series of funnels, threads and crystals and constructed a gadget up on the roof. Magic would amplify the leaders' voices outside the town, Gazlowe's invention would catch the words for him. (The idea behind the invention was, actually, stolen from a gnomish inventor. However, one would be wise not to mention that where a goblin could hear it.)

The goblin smirked to himself in satisfaction as he adjusted the telescope to take in a greater width of the area.

It was finally getting started.

An impressive amount of Orgrimmar grunts and Theramore soldiers marched up the road from Ratchet, to the great relief of the goblin bouncers. The grunts lined up in three rows against the Horde side of the audience, and the soldiers did the same on the other side. The goblins snuck down to create an inner circle, so that they at least would have somebody between themselves and the crowds.

Yet, as the arrival of more troops announced that the show was about to begin, the people on both sides actually began to settle down. The Warchief had ordered peace for this meeting, and the Horde would not disappoint him. So when all the orcs and their friends began to settle down, a sort of hivemind consciousness of the Alliance audience noticed this and resolved to not be any less civilized.

Hmph.

And so it was almost peaceful when two horns sounded from Ratchet, and even more people marched up the hill. Two groups, walking side by side, Kor'kron Elites and shamans almost chest to shoulder with Jaina's Elite guards and mages. Surrounded by their troops, the Warchief and Lady Proudmoore approached the meeting spot. Vol'jin and Drek'Thar followed Thrall, Aegwynn walked just behind Jaina, closely followed by the bishop of Theramore. The old woman's lips still twitched – the bishop, on the other hand, looked as if he desperately wanted to nervously pull at his white and golden robes. Vol'jin happened to glance aside and catch the look on the man's face. It gave the aging witch doctor a good snicker.

Two roaring choirs of voices rose up as the leaders got within sight of the crowds, both sides enraptured in a childish attempt to cheer the loudest. They scared off all the curious seagulls, and probably every wild creature within a mile's radius.

Well, at least that wasn't a violent battle, and it had to end in a draw.

The second wave of soldiers fanned out, creating an even narrower circle within that created by the grunts, soldiers and bouncers. Thrall and Jaina stepped into the center of that space. His armor clanged for every motion, the ocean wind pulled at her fine, pearly mage's robes and cloak with Theramore's golden anchor. Symbolically, neither of them carried weapons. Of course, everyone present knew that this didn't make either of them less dangerous in the least.

The various Elite guards, human and orc alike, exchanged glances with each other across the circle. They remained serious, but the air crackled with shared knowledge – some tense excitement even, the kind that comes from knowing a red-hot secret, although most of them would be loath to admit feeling such.

Thrall half turned and addressed the Horde's present members, gazing above the heads of the guards.

"We are here today to forge a ceasefire, my warriors," he rumbled in Orcish, voice magically strengthened to be heard across the entire area. "Remember that."

They answered him with cheers. Yes, they would play along since it was a direct order from the Warchief. As they silenced, Jaina spoke to the other half of the audience.

"Today is a day of no hostilities, and a hope for a more peaceful future," she said. Her voice too reached even those in the back of the crowds. "Let us honor this hope as it deserves."

Although Jaina did not have the kind of power within the Alliance that Thrall had within the Horde, her words got the same amount of cheers. Whether they respected her, or just wanted to show the monsters (and traitor elves) that they were united, the Alliance members hollered and yelled in a positive tone.

Good.

The leaders turned to face each other. Thrall towered over Jaina, he in his full armor and she in those silk garments that looked as if they could not have stopped a needle from piercing them. That dress certainly _would_ have stopped even a dagger, though, with all the protective spells cast over it.

The two of them truly made a strange sight. Many would recall them just like that – a huge, monstrous warrior (a dragon?) and a lithe woman dressed in white (a princess?), much like a picture in a story book.

(Historical depictions of this moment would become a theme, until the silhouette of the two leaders facing each other turned into a symbol in itself. But that is a story of the future.)

"I will speak Common from now on," Thrall announced, changing from Orcish. "Although not ideal, it is what most of you will understand."

Nobody dared to boo, even if some just now realized that they would be deprived the instant gist of the meeting. The quick ones grabbed the nearest civilian goblin to demand translations of what was to come.

As Thrall turned back to Jaina, she spoke.

"Today I once again greet you as a friend, Warchief Thrall, son of Durotan," she said, bowing her head politely.

He returned the gesture.

"I too greet you as a friend, Lady Proudmoore, as we once were in the most dire hour of this world," he said. "It is my hope that we can put an end to the hostilities between our people."

"Theramore recognizes what Durotar, nay, the entire Horde did for us only a few weeks ago. Allow me to officially thank the heroes who slew the fearsome dragon Onyxia, ending her reign of terror and deceit."

A cheer rose up amongst the Horde, answered more or less dutifully by the Alliance – mainly because Jaina's guards applauded. The Kor'krons actually allowed themselves to look and grin at their novice members and their pride.

As the noise simmered down, Thrall spoke again and all else fell silent to listen.

"Although the black dragons are a threat to us all, I would not sit idle and let their brood mother bring destruction upon my people's old allies," he said. "Theramore has done much to secure the seas for Durotar's trading vessels, and for that I am grateful."

Despite some whistles and snerks, this earned a cheer too. Not that the ship patrols were known to always be helpful to all, but they did help the goblins with the pirates in the area. Truth to be told, it was getting better, especially since Northwatch Hold got management with stricter ideas against shooting at everything that looked suspicious.

"Today, let us remember not enmity," Jaina said, calm voice urging silence of the crowds, "but what friendship between our people once made possible. In memory of that, and respect for what good the orcs have done through the years, I offer my hands in friendship."

She symbolically held out both her hands, and Thrall took them.

Of course, he still dwarfed her. Still, there was something in that instant, many would agree, that made them look like perfect equals. It certainly felt that way.

"Though my people carry painful memories of humans, your people are not the same as those who would chain us," Thrall said. Not completely true, no. But true enough, and in this moment nobody would argue. "You have proven yourselves as our friends in the past, and so it should continue. I accept your friendship and offer you mine, Lady Proudmoore."

Neither of them moved to let go of each others' hands. Thrall merely turned his hand slightly to the side.

"Drek'Thar, as your former student I ask you to call on the spirits' blessing for this event," he said.

Jaina too turned her head.

"And I ask bishop Geran to ask for the blessings of the Light," she said.

The bishop had managed to get his facial expression under control, but one could see the sweat glistening on his forehead beneath his graying hair as he stepped forwards. From the other direction Drek'Thar approached, led by a small orc girl. He looked perfectly calm, while her eyes darted around in excitement and she desperately tried to keep her proud grin for this honor under control.

Without help the blind shaman reached out and closed both his hands over Thrall's right hand and Jaina's left. Bishop Geran mimicked him, on the other side of the couple. He cleared his throat, and his voice rung out across the area just as the leaders' had done. One could hear a slight shiver in his first few words, but then he sunk into the comfort of a practiced speech.

"The Light teaches us Compassion and Respect, as well as Tenacity. The Three Virtues speak not of battles, but to keep true to morality and kindness. To end fighting is to end suffering, and to work towards peace is the greatest virtue of all. Today many people stand here, seeing many enemies nearby. Yet there has been no bloodshed. Let us hope that this, as Lady Proudmoore and Warchief Thrall wishes, will mark a new era for this long suffering world."

He took in a deep, steadying breath and continued.

"And may the Light forever shine upon these lands, and upon this path you both shall walk together from this moment onwards."

In the Alliance side of the audience, far more than one person said something along the lines of "wait, what?" as that phrase got recognized for what it was. Some Forsaken with their memory of life intact did the same, along with a few blood elves, but most of the Horde had no reason to be familiar with these words.

Drek'Thar spoke in Orcish as the bishop fell silent, his voice perfectly under control and not a twitch to his lips giving away what he felt. However, he did lightly squeeze the smaller and bigger hand in his grip. The orc girl at his side stared up at him, mouth falling open.

In the Horde side of the audience, far more than one person sputtered something in Orcish or their own language – because although they did not recognize the phrase the bishop had spoken, there was no mistaking the shaman's words.

Orcs do not have marriage ceremonies, but when the head of a clan or a Warchief takes a mate, it is well to ask the spirits for their blessing – loud and clear.

As Drek'Thar fell silent, Jaina glanced at the robed man to her right and gave a small nod. Bishop Geran took in a second deep breath.

"You may," he only hesitated for the fracture of a moment, "kiss the bride."

He let go of their hands and took a step back. So did Drek'Thar.

Silence spread over the crowds, so complete one could think that the whole area had been encased in ice. Only the seagulls kept shrieking in the background, unaware and uncaring.

Before the eyes of a sizable part of the population from both their countries, Jaina stretched upwards and – carefully, wary of his tusks – pressed her lips to Thrall's as he bent down slightly to meet her.

Aegwynn's voice rung out, every word making it clear that she had her fists on her hips and glared straight at every last person present.

"Hail the Lord of Theramore!"

One may have added a "you cretins" to that, and it would have fit her tone perfectly. Even as the old sorceress spoke, Thrall turned towards the members of the Horde – every last one of them watching him and Jaina with their jaw dangling, mimicking the opposing side – and pointed at the blonde woman beside him with his entire hand.

"Amonmash hall!"

That broke the stunned silence, as the Kor'kron Elites, the Elite Guards, the shamans and the mages who had known the truth, all raised their voices in a roaring cheer. This roused the other guards in the area, and they followed suit despite their shock.

By then the goblins in the audience had realized just what they had witnessed, and they shrieked with giddy laughter rather than cheered.

The rest of the onlookers followed, hesitantly at first as they were still shaken. However, seeing that the other side cheered, hell, who were they to voice less support for their leader?

Uh… leaders?

Orcs and (mainly Theramore) humans alike stared across the area at each other, and the looks on their faces actually made many around them laugh. That mingled with the cheer, until it overpowered the shock.

Oh, there certainly were those who grit their teeth and even shook their fists while shouting curses at this outrage and betrayal, but their voices drowned in the cheer of those swept along in the moment.

Jaina leaned her head against Thrall's armored chest, his hand on her shoulder. Their gazes met, triumphant smiles spreading across their faces.

In his hut, Gazlowe woke from his shocked stupor, then grinned so hard it actually hurt – and that's saying something for a goblin.

"Good show, pal. Good show!" he snickered.

Then he laughed so hard that he fell off his chair.

* * *

_And as an aside…_

Collins Reeds – dashing rogue and right hand man of Theramore's emissary for orc and human relations – tilted his head, studying Thomas Southstone curiously as all around them guards cheered (either caught in the general, surprised excitement or because they knew that was the only thing they could do). Although he had raised his voice in a loud bout of laughter seconds ago, Collins noticed the silence beside him and turned to check this out.

He was rather confused at the blank look on Thomas' face. The emissary's mouth hung open and he stared up past the waving arms. He didn't cheer.

"Uh, Tommy?" Collins said, waving his hand in front of Thomas' eyes.

Just a blink, then the stare returned. Still, the motion did not go unnoticed by the man on Thomas' other side.

"Are you alright, Sir?" the aide, Simon Nebula, asked with a frown and laid his hand on the emissary's shoulder.

Another frozen second, then a huge grin spread over Thomas' face. His right hand went up, curling to a fist against his chest.

"I'll follow Lady Proudmoore 'til the day I die," he said, in the voice of a man having a religious vision.

Simon and Collins exchanged glances.

"You," the rogue said and fondly poked Thomas' cheek, "are weird."


	6. The Next Step

Jaina had really not been looking forwards to this part. Standing on a balcony of the citadel, she gazed down upon pretty much every citizen in Theramore. Some, who did not want to stand in the crowded courtyard area or the side streets, had climbed onto the rooftops of the nearby houses, and every window in sight was open and crammed with faces.

So far, at least, no rotten vegetables had been thrown. The air lay thick over the entire city, however, buzzing with disbelieving murmurs and fearful glances.

Knowing that Aegwynn gave her encouraging looks from behind her back, Jaina took another step forwards to be more visible. She took in a deep breath, and spoke, her voice once again magically strengthened to be heard by all. Everything else fell silent at her first words.

"I understand that the question in everyone's mind today is, 'why?', and the next one is 'what happens now?'" Jaina said, trying not to let it show how much her stomach clenched when she watched the thousands of silent faces below. She spread her hands. "I ask all of you to trust not only me, but also the Warchief, as you did in days past when we faced a common enemy together with the night elves. We still face common enemies today, enemies who feast on the skirmishes between Alliance and Horde, exploiting the differences to grow fat and strong while we bleed into the sand. The Burning Legion did not fall with Archimonde, and the Lich King still sits atop his throne in Northrend, gathering his forces by each passing day."

She let this sink in for a moment, although she did not much like having to rely on scare tactics. But those were strong memories, and the best official argument there was. Let them remember the war, and the reports from Outland, and the brief, testing Scourge invasion hardly a year ago.

As much as she had braced herself for speaking of Arthas like that, she was surprised at how little emotion it stirred in her.

In the crowd a nervous murmur began – difficult to tell what it meant. She caught both tones of agreement and skepticism.

"In the face of this, the Warchief and I agreed that we must put up a unified front once again," she continued. "No one can tell when the Burning Legion and the Scourge will attempt to attack. The ongoing battles between humans and orcs only serve to make us all easier prey. Remember Hyjal. We won then, together. Remember Onyxia. The Warchief sent his warriors to slay her in order to protect us. He did this unasked, honoring our friendship of old."

People were looking at each other now, some nodding slowly. Far from convinced, but it could be done, if they only got enough reason to swallow the shock. Aegwynn stepped forwards, silently handing Jaina a document which she unrolled and held up.

"To answer the second question," she started again, regaining their full attention, "the Horde lays no claim on Theramore. We are still members of the Alliance, and I will fight for our right to remain in it should any other country think differently."

One could almost make out a single word of the grumbles from the crowd this time. How much would anybody bet that Stormwind would be very verbal about this? Stormwind, that always wanted to claim ownership of Theramore and its people, despite their background.

"What this union with Durotar means," Jaina went on, "is that the Warchief will aid Theramore in any way he can, should we be threatened or attacked. Likewise, Theramore will stand up to defend Durotar and its people. Any orc loyal to Durotar, who, for any reason, harms or kills any citizen of Theramore will henceforth not be protected by the laws of war, but made to stand trial as the crime demands. The same rule applies to the people of Theramore."

Even now she could see how this would be abused, or attempted to be abused, by anyone wanting to sow hatred. But it had to be so – turn "honorable battles to protect land and people" into "murder" and a great step forwards would be taken.

"For now," Jaina said, "that is enough. The finer points of this union will be hammered out, and we will face any issue that it brings and forge a strong, protective bond from this. Do not be afraid to voice questions about this matter. I understand well what a surprise this is."

She lowered the paper, and smiled.

"We shall have a feast in celebration of the marriage, in a week's time. This is because we gave such short notice on what would happen. The Warchief wishes you all to know that he will have many fine hogs sent to Theramore for this occasion, as a gift to you, the people."

From citizens whose main diet consisted of fish, making meat a rare delicacy, this was met with a first wave of positive – if careful – reactions in the form of less worried and more intrigued murmurs.

When the Elites clapped, and the soldiers below followed the cue, the people followed along after a moment. Few cheered, but it was a good sign nonetheless. Still smiling, Jaina bowed and backed out of sight.

Aegwynn patted her shoulder, following the Lady back to her chambers.

Once they were alone, Jaina slumped in one of her armchairs and allowed herself a long, relieved sigh. Her entire body tingled from the tension and anticipation of the day, and though she felt exhausted, at the same time she could not think of sitting still. After a few seconds she stood back up and began pacing back and forth. Aegwynn watched all of this from another armchair, lips twitching.

"Let it out, girl, for goodness' sake," the old sorceress finally said.

Jaina bit her lip, then crossed the floor and grasped her chamberlain's old, wrinkled hands with fingers trembling from excitement.

"We did it!" Jaina hissed, smile nearly splitting her cheeks. "Light, we did it!"

"You sure did." Aegwynn let hear a hoarse, hearty laugh. "I have never seen such a spectacle."

Though she laughed as well, an elated, brief sound, Jaina then wrestled control of her grin and straightened up.

"Well, we did a start," she said and rubbed her forehead. "Now comes the part where we start fighting everyone else about whether or not I'm insane or under a spell."

The second was an accusation she anticipated would be voiced by many. Moira Bronzebeard had paved the way to it just a few months ago. Jaina sighed. If that idea just merely touched the dwarves' minds, there would be no hoping for support from them. But then again, the dwarves did have reason to be thankful of the orcs, Thrall _had_ tried to help them with their princess… unless, of course, people came to accuse the orcs of working with the Dark Irons, now using the same hypnotic magic on a second woman.

Conspiracy theories were certainly already running wild. Any mage watching the meeting and the wedding had without a doubt launched through portals to the capitals, bringing the news to their leaders and people.

Jaina set her jaw. That was her first order of business to deal with, now.

"I have to-" she started, but Aegwynn stood up and caught her wrists.

"Sit down and have a drink of tea to calm your nerves," the old woman kindly but firmly said. "I'd recommend some rum in that, too."

"No time…"

"The world won't fall apart if you take a twenty minute break. We can discuss what you're planning to tell the other lords and ladies of the Alliance while we wait and drink."

Saying so, Aegwynn marched over and pulled the cord to call for a servant. When a rather wide-eyed woman knocked on the door in answer to the summons, the chamberlain ordered for tea with rum.

Surrendering to Aegwynn's blunt doting was not easy, but as Jaina forced herself to calm down she felt grateful for it. In truth, she felt mentally exhausted and a short break was what she needed to clear her head enough for what she had to do next.

She only had a little bit of rum in her tea, for those same reasons, but Aegwynn surely was right about how well-needed those drops of alcohol were for Jaina's electrified nerves.

When they had finished the pot of tea, then the wrestling with paper, ink and words began.

In all kinds of communication, there is a trick to expressing things differently depending on your intentions and the reactions you're hoping for. Jaina exercised all her training in that art during the rest of the day, and handed the results to mages with slightly dazed expressions after showing the letters to Aegwynn. The chamberlain added very little to the process, apart from laughing out loud at the end of the first letter. She was not a very diplomatic person, herself.

> _To His Royal Highness, Anduin Wrynn of Stormwind,_  
>  Honored Highlord Fordragon,  
>  and His Eminence, Archbishop Benedictus
> 
> My most revered greetings to You all.
> 
> I, Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore, send You this letter in order to bring You tidings from Kalimdor. I do not doubt that You have already received word of the affairs I now wish to explain.
> 
> As You are all aware, Theramore, being situated on Kalimdor, lies closer than any other human city to the lands claimed by the Horde. Ever since the Third War, it has been our fervent wish to maintain ceasefire with the orcs, trolls and tauren. I need not remind You of the fact that it was our alliance with them and the night elves, which successfully defeated the demonic invasion led by the demon Archimonde. Who can say when, rather than if, the Burning Legion will attempt another full scale assault on Azeroth?
> 
> The times remain troubled, and the people of Theramore are deeply concerned about this. We are not alone in this anxiety. All the people on Kalimdor remember what happened on Mount Hyjal. Yet, the constant infighting between Alliance and Horde eats away at our very hearts. I have long feared that we are playing into the Burning Legion's hands. Warchief Thrall has expressed the same concerns many times in the past years.
> 
> Therefore, for the sake of stability on Kalimdor, in an attempt to end the draining skirmishes, so that we can hope to have the strength to defend ourselves against the demons once again should the need arise, I have agreed to a political union between Theramore and Durotar. This union comes in the form of the marriage between myself and the orcish Warchief.
> 
> I understand the outrage this will cause, and I humbly ask of You not to judge too quickly. Theramore has not betrayed the Alliance, nor do we wish to leave it. Our port and lands remain open to all humans, dwarves, and gnomes, as well as the night elves and draenei. This action, which I do not doubt will be called scandalous by many, is one of hope for peace.
> 
> You are, of course, most welcome to send representatives to join the celebration in Theramore, should You wish to.
> 
> Warchief Thrall sends his well wishes to You all. He also wishes to know if Stormwind would accept the skull of the dragon Onyxia, currently kept in Orgrimmar, as a show of good will.
> 
> _I remain Your loyal ally,  
>  Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore_

A copy of the above message (minus the mention of Onyxia's skull), was sent to His Royal Majesty, Magni Bronzebeard of Ironforge and of the honorable Bronzebeard clan, and the honored High Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorqe, King of the Gnomes.

> _To the revered Prophet Velen,  
>  __the honored Farseer Nobundo,_  
>  and the draenei council
> 
> Greetings,
> 
> Surprising news must have reached You by now, and I hope to be able to shed some light upon what has occurred. Forgive me, for I honestly lack the knowledge of Your culture to know whether this will seem strange or even barbaric to You.
> 
> Foremost, however, I wish You to know that Theramore remains Your friend and ally, and our gates are open to You all in no different way than before. If You come to resent Theramore and myself for my actions, I will deeply lament the loss of friends. I implore You not to judge too soon, no matter how shocking it all may be.
> 
> It is not customary on Azeroth for people, leaders or no, to suddenly marry as Warchief Thrall and I did today. I assure You that You were not the only ones surprised to receive the news. We merely kept it secret for the sake of safety.
> 
> It is, however, an old tradition among leaders on this world to marry in order to bridge hostilities between nations and people. What Warchief Thrall and I did, we did in the name of peace. History has not been kind to Azeroth, nor Draenor, and we hope to prevent bloodshed from escalating once again.
> 
> You will surely have questions for me, and I will do my outmost to answer any concern You may have.
> 
> In a week's time there will be a feast in Theramore to celebrate the marriage. You are warmly welcome to send representatives to participate. Be aware, however, that I will be unable to meet with any emissary then, as I will partake in the celebration held in Orgrimmar, at my husband's side.
> 
> _Light bless You.  
>  -Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore_

Enclosed with the above letter was also the one below, the first of two papers she had received the night before. She folded the two messages gently and sealed them as one with Theramore's emblem in wax.

Light willing, both would be read.

> _To the revered Prophet Velen, honored Farseer Nobundo,  
>  and to the entire draenei race_
> 
> Hail the Light and the spirits,
> 
> I write to You by way of my wife, Lady Jaina of Theramore. It is my fervent hope that this message will reach You, and that You will at least take the time to read it. It is all I can ask of You.
> 
> I will not, I cannot ask of You to forgive what cannot be forgiven. The suffering my people rained upon Yours on Draenor was an act of despicable atrocity. That we were fooled and made into tools by the Burning Legion is not a worthy excuse. There is no excuse.
> 
> Since You arrived on Azeroth, you have observed yet more strife, and surely borne witness to other violent acts by my people. You are all aware of the strains on this world, and in Outland. Yet some of Your people have chosen to dare bridging old fears and join forces with the Earthen Ring, among other things, to which I extend my deepest gratitude.
> 
> If at all possible, I would wish for an end to the conflicts between Alliance and Horde. We share a common enemy in the Burning Legion, but if You cannot bear to trust us, or our allies, I can only accept that. We are no longer slaves to the demons, yet nobody can ever forget those times.
> 
> This I swear on the name of all my ancestors, however, that as long as I draw breath, nothing like the war on Draenor, or the wars on Azeroth initiated by my people, will ever happen again.
> 
> _-Warchief Thrall, Leader of the Horde, Lord of the Clans and of Theramore_

"You go and tell him that I think he's good at groveling in the dust without sounding too pathetic," Aegwynn commented as she read that letter.

Jaina just shook her head, even if she couldn't help smiling at the dry comment – although she felt a little guilty about that. Leaving the subject, she simply turned back to her desk for the next letter.

> _To High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind_
> 
> Greetings, my friend,
> 
> My people are bewildered, and so are surely yours, because of what happened between the Warchief and I in Ratchet today. Perhaps you are, too. However, if I ask you to remember the battles on Hyjal, is there a possibility that you could push the surprise aside? I have written to many other leaders in the Alliance today, to explain my actions. Of all of them, I hope that you will have the easiest time to understand why Warchief Thrall and I did something so drastic. It may have seemed like a spur of the moment action, but I assure you that we have discussed it for a long time. Perhaps it began to take shape even weeks before Hyjal, in that cave when the Warchief, Cairne Bloodhoof and I met the Prophet Medivh.
> 
> I apologize from the bottom of my heart for not letting you know of our plans beforehand. I assure you that I meant no offense. It was purely a matter of caution.
> 
> If you could spare the time, I would be glad to meet with you in the coming days and discuss what has happened and what it entails. In one week there will be a celebration in both Theramore and Orgrimmar in honor of the union between the orcs and us, and because of that I might be unable to speak with you on that day and at least one day after. You and anyone of your people who wish to join the festivities are warmly welcome.
> 
> _Best wishes,  
>  Jaina_

This one, too, was sent with an accompanying letter.

> _To High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind_
> 
> Greetings,
> 
> Communications between our races have been sparse and painful ever since the end of the third war. As You must know by now, however, Lady Jaina and I have taken a rather surprising step towards peace. In honor of this, if at all possible, I would like to seek an end to the hostilities between Your people and mine, as well.
> 
> I know full well the bitterness felt in Darnassus, and the rage aimed towards the entire Horde. Many certainly say that there is nothing to discuss. However, though it may not be my place to do so, I wish to invite You to a dialogue about Ashenvale and Warsong Gulch, with hopes of ending the conflicts peacefully. I am certain that both Theramore and Ratchet will gladly supply a neutral meeting ground for our representatives.
> 
> _-Warchief Thrall, Leader of the Horde, Lord of the Clans and of Theramore_

Finishing that, Jaina took a break to call for the head maid after sending the letters off. When the middle-aged woman appeared, she wore an admirably blank expression. It cracked a little, however, as Jaina ordered for a bath to be prepared, with some rose water added.

"Of course, my Lady," the woman said, folding her hands behind her back. "Shall I order flowers to braid into your hair, as well?"

In the background, Aegwynn turned to the window to hide her smirk, in a rare act of empathy for an already rattled woman.

"Thank you," Jaina said with a soft smile, allowing herself a brief, distant expression before looking at the maid again. "But I think that we will save that for the night of the celebration."

The maid dropped a stiff curtsey and left. Jaina chuckled to herself as the door closed, knowing the woman would fly down to the kitchen as quick as her legs could carry her – and dignity allowed. Within an hour everyone in the citadel would know that Lady Proudmoore groomed herself like a bride for her wedding night. The whole city would know before nightfall.

_Well, they already knew it is my wedding night. Now they'll know that I will go through with it, too._

Rather, think they know.

She smiled to herself for another moment, but then her amusement faltered. Was it too much, perhaps? What would they think of her in the morning?

Too late, now.

The thought ran along, and she wondered what Thrall's allies were thinking about this. Drek'Thar had grinned during the ceremony, but what of Vol'jin and Cairne? She did not even want to think about what Sylvanas might have to say, and the blood elves may or may not care… unless they got some idea about Kael'thas fancy for her and more or less silently chose to support his side. A disturbing prospect, certainly.

"You're a sneaky little vixen, you know that?" Aegwynn said, crossing the floor to her and jolting Jaina out of her concerned thoughts. "Except that was about as subtle as an ogre's club to the face."

"I'm not very good at sneaky, no," Jaina admitted, letting the 'vixen' comment be since this was Aegwynn speaking.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing." The old woman's smirk softened. "Now… you have one more letter left, don't you?"

Pursing her mouth, Jaina nodded.

"I will leave you to that, then," Aegwynn said. "It's nobody's business but yours and his." The smirk returned, but it was a warm one, as she backed towards the door. "As for the rest, I wish you a good night, Jaina."

No blush managed to conquer Jaina's face this time either, but it was another close call. She did not manage to gather the wit for a reply quick enough. Chuckling softly, Aegwynn slipped out and closed the door.

Jaina rolled her eyes and went to write the most difficult letter, the one she had saved for last. It required a lot of paper, for she wrote several attempts before she finally felt as at ease with the result as she possibly could. The head maid and two more maid servants appeared and left several times, carrying buckets of hot, rose scented water to fill the bath tub in Jaina's private bath room.

By the time she was done with the letter, the water was prepared and waiting. Jaina read through the text one final time.

> _To the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, Tandred Proudmoore_
> 
> Dear Tandred,
> 
> Trust me when I say that this is not an easy message to write. You will be confused, you may even feel hurt and betrayed. I can only hope that you will control yourself and at least try to understand.
> 
> I cannot know if you have already been informed of what has happened, when you receive this letter. If not, I hope that your shock will not be so great, if I can tell you in my own words. If you have, perhaps I can at least offer some comfort.
> 
> It is the truth that through marriage with the orcish Warchief, I have solidified peace between Theramore and Durotar. You surely suspect foul play and dirty politics. There has been nothing of the sort, believe me. This match is the result of a long discussion between the Warchief and me, on how to end the conflicts between our people. It came to be through free choice and agreement, and there has been no force, whether military, physical, or magical, involved.
> 
> You know that it is no false rumor that both of us have kept and treasured the memory of our alliance on Hyjal. We both saw then, what great things our people and friends could accomplish when they dared to put aside their differences. Neither of us want to see that potential of greatness bleeding dry from senseless hatred.
> 
> I know that this is very hard to believe. There is much reason to fear the orcs, yet I do not. They were friends of the people in Theramore, many of them would still want to be. If the Horde is nothing but evil, then why are their warriors joining with the Argent Dawn, the Cenarion Circle, and the troops in Outland, to fight what evils are still threatening us all? Are all battles on this world initiated by them?
> 
> Warchief Thrall is an easy scapegoat for everything evil that the Horde does, and has done. Yet, if you will take my word for it, he is an honorable man, a scholar as much as a warrior. Given the choice, he would always turn to diplomacy rather than weapons. He has done so before, even broken up a would-be war a few years ago.
> 
> I know that this is an outrageous match, but I hope that people will come to accept it in time. Please believe me when I say that I am perfectly at ease with the situation.
> 
> _Yours fondly,  
>  Jaina_

It was as good as it could get. Sighing softly, she sealed the final letter and called on one last mage to deliver it.

Finally done. Soon she would be able to lay this insane day to rest. A sting of the thrill she had suppressed with concern for her people and everyone else's reaction escaped her control. Meeting with Thrall now would, in practicality, not be any different from her earlier nightly visits to his chambers. Raw practicality tends to shatter when the mental situation is more outspoken, however.

Jaina stretched and walked through the door to the bath room. The three servants stood beside the steaming tub, faces schooled into calm masks. They curtseyed as Jaina entered.

"Your bath is ready, my Lady," the head maid, needlessly, announced. "Is there anything else?"

Respect and politeness was definitely not the only reason they waited on her.

"No, thank you," Jaina said with a smile. She studied the three women for a moment, then allowed her relaxed look to falter.

Most leaders would not even consider speaking with their servants on any important matter, but Jaina had worked with "common people" at the hardest of times. And really, she wanted to know what Theramore thought, desperately so.

"I will not punish you if you speak your minds honestly," she said, and added when they blinked like owls, "were you shocked today?"

Silly question.

The women exchanged glances, looked at her, then at each other again. Finally, the head maid cleared her throat.

"Well, my Lady," she said, hands wrenching in her apron, "it was, uh, a bit sudden, that's all."

Jaina nodded, smiling a little.

"Yes, I know. We feared that there might be attempts to disrupt the wedding if we announced it," she said.

"The blood elf prince, did he threaten you, my Lady?" one of the younger women blurted. Of course, that mysterious, nightly visit had been the greatest news until today.

The maid immediately blushed crimson and pressed a hand to her mouth. However, Jaina merely nodded again.

"Yes, he said…" she hesitated only for a moment, then decided that it would be very effective to let that juicy piece of intimidation be known to more people. As she told the women of Kael'thas final words the other night, their eyes widened and their mouths turned to half-horrified, half-intrigued Os.

Frightening, immoral, and certainly giving the Warchief a better sheen. Honestly, Jaina reflected, had Kael'thas not realized how much he sounded like the villain out of a heroic folktale?

"What… what did the War- his Lordship say when, uh, if you told him about it?" the same maid as before asked.

"Oh, something about breaking bones the elf doesn't even know he has in his body, if he as much as tries to lay a finger on me," Jaina lied in an easy tone, smiling again. She leaned forwards a little, adding in a lower voice, "Warchief Thrall is very much a gentleman, when it comes down to it."

The women exchanged glances, and then again when another thought struck for probably the thousand time. Silence hung in the air for a moment, and then:

"You are really going to, err…?" the head maid started, faltering with a horrified look as she realized that she really might be pushing it.

Jaina smiled.

"It is my wedding night," she said in a soft tone. "I will bring myself to Orgrimmar, with my magic, after I have bathed."

She sent them off with that, saying that they could take the rest of the evening off since it was, after all, a special day. Once alone, Jaina slipped out of her dress and hung it on a waiting hanger on the wall. Her socks, underskirt and everything else went into a small basket for that purpose.

It was with a great sigh of relief that she sunk into the warm water, leaned her head back against the wooden edge of the bathtub and closed her eyes. A smile overtook her lips, growing to a grin and then to an exhausted chuckle.

 _We did it, we really did it…_ she mentally repeated to herself, grateful to Aegwynn for letting her voice those words to somebody earlier.

What a day. What would the history books say?

She snorted at that runaway thought, knowing that those texts only would be written years and decades from now. Every last word depending on how things worked out in the near future.

All of a sudden she felt exhausted, and the amusement faded away. Wiping a hand against her forehead she found a thin layer of crusted dust and sweat. The heat in the Barrens, the speech to Theramore's people and her own high strung mind had left traces of grime. Grimacing, she grabbed the sponge and bar of soap to remedy that.

The smell of roses got a bit overwhelming after a while, but she bore it until she had cleaned herself. Unfortunately, that also of course made it impossible for her to relax in the bath any longer. Aside from the scent filling her nostrils, she was growing impatient to leave.

After climbing out of the bath, she dried herself and pulled on a simple, soft dress. She could sleep in that, but chose to wear a more elaborate gown over the first. One should not face the evening of their wedding day dressed too lightly.

* * *

Orgrimmar was never silent. However, gazing upon it from one of his large windows, Thrall noticed full well that there was a quiet, confused air to the nightly activities. People filled the streets at all hours, and the hum of their talking reached all the way up to him if he strained his ears. Not so animated as usual, though. People were thinking and wondering.

" _So this means… we win?"_

That question had been brought to the Warchief from a frowning grunt, who claimed that somebody on the street had asked him. Whether that was true or not, Thrall had snorted at it and said no, not at all. We've solidified old friendships.

He certainly hoped that that the mindset behind that seemingly innocent question would not take over. Knowing his people, though, they might go for a chance to lord superiority over the people of Theramore. The internment camps were not forgotten, regardless of whether those humans were guilty, regardless of Hyjal.

That, of course, was only the beginning of the tangle that would have to be sorted out. It would take years, he and Jaina had already spent years trying to keep the mess from growing too big. However, at least now they had solid ground to stand on while pulling at all those issues, and with some luck it would add voice to the people on both sides who agreed that the skirmishes had to stop.

And then, those were only questions for Theramore and Durotar. Soon every other leader, commander and noble would have had time to react, and that would be yet another thing to deal with.

He allowed himself some hope, though. No matter the responses, at least Jaina and he had taken a stand, and with her help he had been able to reach out to the other Alliance factions on Kalimdor. The future would be interesting to say the least. Also, he already knew what Cairne thought, at least, and that was heartening – as opposed to Vol'jin's concerned scowl.

No, Thrall certainly did not blame the witch doctor for his worries, but those too could be met with more efficiency now, hopefully. One had to focus on the possibilities, not the fallacies, or there would never be anything done.

His gaze wandered towards the unwavering, purple glow rising from the Cleft of Shadow, and he grinned nastily. Down there in that eyesore, several people were _not_ amused. During his speech to the inhabitants of the city, Thrall had caught the look of barely contained frothing rage on Neeru Fireblade's face. Apparently something like this had not at all been included in the Burning Blade's plans.

 _Excellent_.

All this thanks to Jaina not accepting his own initial, brittle hesitance to the match. He allowed himself to chuckle.

A human as a mate. His grandmother, at least, respected his choice though she thought it odd. The thought gave him some pause, wondering what his parents and Taretha would say about it. It was not the first time he wondered, of course, and he felt certain that Tari would have approved.

His parents… he could not tell, but if Geyah could accept this, then their spirits hopefully did as well.

In a much more sober mood Thrall looked upwards, at the deepening blue of the sky. A couple of stars already twinkled up there, but the day was not quite past yet. Below, torches were being lit along the streets.

Though he knew that it was silly, when he considered the time he felt a stitch of worry at Jaina's absence. He pushed that away - they had agreed to meet by nightfall; she was not at all late.

Shaking his head he turned and walked away from the window, picking at the leather straps holding his armor in place. He had meant to do that when he reached his room earlier, but ended up by the window instead. If he was honest with himself, he had simply not relaxed and therefore kept the armor on. There was no immediate danger he could perceive, as much as there were angry schemers in the Cleft – and that was certainly not the only place. Still, the spirits softly mumbled, perfectly at ease.

Thrall pried off one after another piece of Orgrim's armor – _and what would he and Hellscream have to say?_ – and carefully set them on the sturdy, wooden armor stand. With some annoyance he noticed how stiff the familiar motions seemed. Every muscle in his body was tense as if preparing for a defensive stance, and he could do nothing against it.

He was just reaching to remove the chest and back plate when a tingling sound came from behind him. Turning on his heel he met Jaina's gaze.

A huge grin spread over Thrall's face, matched by her stretching lips, as the two leaders met halfway across the floor. He reached down and her eyes widened briefly in surprise, but when his hands closed around her waist and hoisted her upwards she wrapped her arms around his neck and laughed. He too laughed, shifting his grip to hold her more comfortably.

_We really did it._

"The looks on their faces!" Jaina chortled, forehead pressing against his jaw line.

The comment made Thrall chuckle even harder. Every speck of tension had fled his body.

"Indeed," he said, clearing his throat to compose himself enough to speak properly. "And you should have seen Neeru's expression later on."

He set her down so that they could face each other, both still grinning wide. Now that he had calmed down a little, Thrall noticed the sweet, flowery scent.

Jaina took note of his nose curiously wrinkling, judging by the smile and the soft snort.

"I took a bath with rose water to make it official that I was going here. It's a tradition for brides," she explained, watching him. "I hope the smell isn't unpleasant."

"I see. No, not at all." It really wasn't. But speaking of official, he nodded and looked at her more seriously. "How is Theramore?"

"The good news is that there's no revolution going on right now at least." With a relieved sigh, Jaina rolled her shoulders. "But it was probably a good thing that you didn't make an appearance in Theramore today. I think people just feel confused right now. They liked the sound of the feast, though."

"That's good to hear. Wait a moment."

He gestured at her to sit down on one of the pelts, then went to the door and opened it. The two guards outside kept their faces admirably emotionless when hearing that the Warchief's mate had arrived. Both of the Elites saluted, and one went to find a servant to bring food and drink.

That done, Thrall closed the door and walked back to where Jaina had made herself comfortable on a bear pelt. He sat down before her, crossing his ankles comfortably.

The rumor of Jaina's presence would spread through Orgrimmar like fire through dry grass. Like it did through Theramore already. No reason to sneak anymore, although people wouldn't know that this wasn't the first night they spent together.

There would be times for official visits, with announcements beforehand, and guards surrounding them. At those times they would be at their most vulnerable, when their enemies might plan an attack. But not now. They were still breaking the rules, as they had done for years, to carve a new path.

"How did your people take the news?" Jaina asked.

"People are confused here as well, but nobody was shouting," Thrall replied. He gave a dry smile. "Perhaps we'll know more tomorrow, when they've slept on it."

"Light!" she muttered and rubbed her forehead, but the sigh was not as much exasperated as accepting.

He watched her as her outburst subsided, thinking she seemed a little out of place on the pelt, in her fine, white dress with its purple and gold inlays. And still she looked perfectly at home sitting there, conversing with him.

Being alone together in his room remained a little bit foreign, but they were passing that. Especially now, when their people knew, and soon all the world would know. The news spread even at this moment, sparking outrage and scandal.

He held back a laugh, allowing himself to admit feeling triumphantly rebellious. It was insane, that was true, but they had done it anyway. Yes, lots of work remained before this new situation would even begin to make sense to anybody, and it would certainly be a rocky ride, but he didn't fear it. Neither did Jaina, sitting there with determination blazing in her eyes.

Let the dissenters come.

Thrall let those thoughts pass, then tried to shrug them off. There would be problems ahead, and right now, he didn't want them to intrude on this moment.

But on that tangent…

"Cairne sent me an immediate reply to the news, through the troll mage messenger," he said, dry smile turning warmer. "He was surprised, but I believe he actually laughed. We have his full support."

He found that he took a kind of pleasure from the way the hard look peeled away from Jaina's features, and she relaxed.

"I'm glad to hear that," she said. "He and I haven't interacted as much as the two of us, but he is a friend."

And one more ally in this.

As Thrall nodded, Jaina tilted her head slightly.

"You never had a chance to tell me how Vol'jin and Drek'Thar took it," she said.

"Ah, yes."

He described the initial hesitance, and the acceptance in Drek'Thar's case, as well as the more defensive stance Vol'jin took. Part of him – the practical, Warchief part – wanted to bring up that one recent discovery which could back up Vol'jin and many another skeptic's voice. Thrall refused that part of him for now, however. This was not the time. That disturbing text found in Tiragarde Keep deserved no more mention than any other problem on this night.

A pair of orc women arrived carrying a tray of food each, the scene reminiscent of Geyah's visit a few days earlier. The women looked between the two leaders with a mix of curiosity and hesitance, but did not comment. They merely placed their burdens on the pelt, then politely bowed and left again.

Thrall and Jaina exchanged glances and chuckles, and that was the end of that.

They ate and talked in a warm, relaxed atmosphere. After a while, both of them even managed to occasionally forget that this in no way was their private wedding night – because half the world, and more and more people for each passing minute, were thinking about them.

* * *

A letter was sent in Outland also, one enchanted so that water would not do a thing to it.

> _Honored Lady Vashj,_
> 
> You are of course aware that I would not call upon you unless it was important, my Lady. I, and the rest of your loyal allies here in Tempest Keep, are at our wits' end, and therefore we turn to you.
> 
> Disturbing news has reached us from Azeroth, and though it has little impact on our plans for Outland, it has unfortunately wounded our Prince deeply emotionally. He is quite mad with rage, and we cannot calm him, nor can we see an end of it. I beseech you to come here and reason with him, as your sage advice would surely reach him just as it has done in the past.
> 
> _Glory to the Illidari  
>  -_ _High Astromancer Solarian_


	7. Invitations

The following day, the real fun began.

First, there was the problem of communication. It may have been fine for Jaina to teleport straight into Grommash Hold whenever she and Thrall needed to speak, but unfortunately things just weren't that simple. They both had things to do, and many orders to deliver – she could not be away like that, not during the day at least. Therefore, messengers would have to be chosen.

This proved, unsurprisingly, rather problematic. While there were mages powerful enough to make portals to where they would have to go, quickly, getting them to actually do so was a whole other thing.

It turned out that even the two men who eventually volunteered, did so with many questions about their own safety. The offered pay may have been good, but…

This was a matter Jaina handed over to someone else. She would merely officially thank the men and appoint them the task of messengers.

Provided they did not lose their nerve.

They were sat down in a comfy chair each, together with somebody with experience of official meetings with the orcs, to explain the whole thing without scaring them out of their skin.

"There's nothing to fear," Thomas Southstone patiently said, rounding off his introduction of what was expected of them. "Everyone in Orgrimmar will be fully aware that you are there, and you will not be left alone. The Warchief will not allow anybody to do you harm, and only a fool would try."

He looked at their hesitant gazes, and pressed a hand to his chest.

"Look," he said. "I have been in Orgrimmar myself, three times, and I'm not dead. The guards don't let their eyes off me for a moment."

"Guards?" one of the mages said, eyes thinning in suspicion.

"Of course. You don't think that they would let me take a step in there without at least four people checking every little movement I make, do you?"

Thomas looked at them for a moment.

"I'll come with you," he offered. "Some people in Orgrimmar know who I am, I have diplomatic immunity."

"That was all you wanted to say, wasn't it?" Aegwynn said from the door, causing all three men to jump. "You're as giddy as a kid hoping he will get to go to the candy shop."

"It's a privilege to be allowed inside of Orgrimmar," Thomas said, more sheepish than defensive.

"Of course, especially if you're walking and not in a cage."

"My Lady!" Thomas groaned as the two mages bristled at her words.

She sneered, and he honestly suspected that she enjoyed what she had just done a little too much.

"Anyway," Aegwynn said, sobering, "a troll mage just arrived, with a letter for Lady Proudmoore. Perhaps you gentlemen ought to have a chat with your co-worker?"

Thomas was out the door, dragging the bewildered mages along, within the next three seconds. Shaking her head and chuckling, Aegwynn followed.

In the throne room, Jaina had her own arguments to deal with. She surveyed the armored man before her, face as serious as his – he may be standing at polite attention, but he could not contain the dark wrinkle between his eyes. The guards by the door too looked a little uneasy.

"No, Captain, I understand the implications and the risks of this," Jaina said. "But the situation has changed, and Durotar now has a right to Northwatch."

Sir Tallwind grimly shook his head. He was a fine military leader, a good replacement for Captain Fairmount – who, after that unfortunate incident with the Highelf merchant Captain Brightsun and his crew, had been relieved of her duties. Not to mention hospitalized due to being attacked by a group of Horde vigilantes. Tallwind had reined in the jittery cannoneers of Northwatch Hold, and, overall, he did have a more relaxed view of the world.

However, the limits of those views were surfacing now.

"It will never work, my Lady," he said. "Our men won't have it."

Looking at him, it was not difficult to tell that he would very much have liked to add " _I_ won't have it", but wisely chose not to. Jaina nodded.

"This is one of the problems we will have to face from now on," she said. "There is no way around it, I'm afraid."

His eyes said that he thought there were ways, but he held his peace. Jaina did understand his concerns, they were perfectly valid. However, she had to be firm in this, as all other matters in the future. Unless changes like this were made, her and Thrall's marriage would remain an empty, if scandalous, symbol.

"There must be no discrimination, no falling back on the old values of orcs as slaves in any way. Of course, the orcs will have to follow the same rules and behave," Jaina said. Then she smiled, and it was not a kind smile. "And if your men have a problem with this, let them know that should there be incidents with the orcs, they will not answer to me only. They will also answer to my husband."

It felt a little too good to say that, mainly due to the look on the captain's face. As he marched out, rather pale, Jaina wished for the tenth or so time that she could just appoint Colonel Lorena for the leading position in the Hold. That woman had more than ample skill and faith in her Lady, proven beyond a doubt in the battle against the Zmodlor and the Burning Blade some years ago. However, Lorena had her vital place right now out at sea, overseeing the ships protecting merchant vessels from the pirates in the area.

The door didn't even close after the Captain – Jaina's ponderings flew out the window as she saw him sidestep, then look around with wide eyes as emissary Southstone walked in, stopping his stumbling dialogue in Orcish to look at Jaina and salute. Tallwind was not so much staring at the diplomat and the two mages who stopped in the door, looking caught between amusement and disbelief. The Captain, and the guards a second later, rather stared at the troll woman swaggering in, grinning around her fine tusks at Thomas.

She stood one and a half head taller than any of the men, and their armor, or robes, only managed to underscore just how colorful her skirt and short shirt were. Jaina could brave a guess that Thrall had insisted on more clothing than usual for his messengers, though.

The troll sobered as Thomas fell silent, and mimicked him as he saluted – though she touched a fist to her (ample) chest instead of touching a stretched hand to her forehead.

"A messenger from Warchief Thrall, my Lady," Thomas said.

"Welcome to Theramore," Jaina said, smiling at the troll.

The much taller woman bowed her head and stepped forwards, holding out a folded letter. Jaina saw the guards bristle, but they stood back and forced themselves to just wait and see. Good.

"Dank ye, m'Lady," the troll said in a richly accented Common. "Dis letter be from High Chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof."

Keeping her smile under control, Jaina took the letter and opened it. Cairne wrote with big, exact letters that still had a rounded fluidity to them. It was interesting, she had never seen his handwriting before. She had to wonder if he had needed help with both the language and the alphabet – if so, it didn't show.

> _Greetings, Lady Proudmoore,_
> 
> It warms my spirit to see that You and the Warchief are so dedicated to the cause of peace. Know that You have not only my full support, and the support of all tauren faithful to our common cause, but You also have my blessings and those of my son.
> 
> We have not forgotten Hyjal, and though there have been disagreements with our people and the Alliance since then, there is a great wish for peace amongst the settlements here in Mulgore. Hamuul Runetotem of the Cenarion Circle was overjoyed to hear the news, and he wishes to voice his sanction of this great occasion as well. He does not wander alone with this emotion in his chest. May the day of Your historical wedding be one of hope for the entire land.
> 
> _May the spirits watch over you always,  
>  Cairne Bloodhoof_

Jaina could almost hear the old tauren's deep, soft voice as she read, and it was a comforting feeling to support his words. Lowering the letter, she nodded at the messenger.

"I will write a reply at once," Jaina said, then motioned at the men behind the troll. "It won't take long, but I'm certain that there may be things you and your Theramore colleagues might want to sort out."

The troll grinned, and nodded.

"Dey needn't be so scah'd, m'Lady, I'lla try ta help telling dem so."

Jaina managed to contain her laughter to a twitch of her lips. In the background, the two mages looked a little sheepish, while Thomas hid his mouth behind a hand.

The troll took a few steps backwards, saluted again and then walked out. The door closed behind her, Thomas and the messengers.

Jaina immediately went about writing a letter to Cairne, thanking him and all other tauren voicing their support for the marriage. She was certain that not all agreed even in that generally open-minded people, even with the Grimtotems disregarded, but any encouraging response was invaluable.

About half an hour after receiving the message from the tauren High Chieftain, Jaina could send the troll off with her response.

That turned out to have been the calm part of the day, because then some very surprising things happened very quickly.

Only minutes after the troll had twinkled out of existence, holding the newly composed letter, a guard came hurrying inside the throne room. More or less skidding to a halt, he tried to catch his breath while Jaina watched with raised eyebrows.

"My Lady," he gasped, saluting, "a messenger from the night elves just arrived."

Jaina tensed – she could not help it, even if she regretted letting the soldiers see it. But this, being the first reaction from another Alliance faction, had been what she had expected from the moment she kissed Thrall in Ratchet in front of the stunned crowds. Among the leaders in the Alliance, Tyrande was the one who might accept this arrangement the easiest. However, considering the current strife between the night elves and the orcs and trolls over Ashenvale and Warsong Gulch, Jaina had no idea whether she could count on Tyrande's support.

Seconds stretched to excruciating minutes as she waited, as everyone waited – she allowed herself to exchange glances with the guards, and they too looked nervous.

Then finally light, strong steps sounded through the open door and a night elf woman walked in, saluting. Jaina bowed her head and spoke a well practiced greeting, hardly hearing herself. The tall warrior female wore a perfectly blank expression, revealing nothing.

She stepped forwards, raising her hand with a letter closed with a twin crescent-shaped wax symbol. The neutral look smoothened, and a small, careful smile touched the tall, purple-skinned woman's lips.

"Lady Tyrande sends her warmest well wishes," she said.

The air became breathable again.

"I am most grateful."

Jaina didn't show it, but the words flooded her with relief. She was about to open the letter, when the messenger spoke again.

"Lady Tyrande also asked me to give you this, my Lady," she said and held out a second letter. "It is for Warchief Thrall."

Jaina raised her eyebrows, but took the letter and looked at it. Sure enough, it was addressed to Thrall, the greeting on the outside penned in Tyrande's elegant handwriting.

"Very well, I will have it delivered immediately," Jaina said. She nodded to one of the guards, who saluted and left the room.

A moment later he returned, followed by Thomas and one of the messenger mages. The latter looked a little pale, but the determination in his eyes promised that he had accepted this task and would carry it out as planned.

The two of them saluted, and the mage accepted the letter from Jaina's hand. Admirably, he kept himself so much under control that his eyelids only twitched in surprise when he heard who the letter was for, and from who. Thomas, on the other hand, grinned wide in positive disbelief.

Though he cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to gather his wit, the mage bowed his head and raised his free hand, holding a rune of portals. Moments later both men were gone, and the shimmering hole in the air disappeared.

"I cannot say when there will be a reply," Jaina told the night elf messenger. "The Warchief has a lot of things to prepare for the moment. If you wish, you can have a meal and drink downstairs while you wait."

The messenger nodded her head in gratitude, turned, and walked out. The elf had not even reached the door before Jaina had opened the letter, unable to contain her curiosity.

She read the first few lines with twitching lips. Tyrande knew how to weave words most poetically, but what it got down to was, in essence, "If you think that I'm very surprised, young lady, you are gravely mistaken".

Then Jaina reached the middle of the letter, and froze. She backed up, reread the lines, then backed up again and read them a third time.

"Is something the matter, my Lady?" one of the guards asked with some alarm.

Jaina looked up at him and his companion.

"Oh dear," was all she managed to say.

* * *

 

In Orgrimmar, Thrall too came to an absolute halt at the mirroring portion of his letter from Tyrande.

Slowly, he reached up and rubbed his forehead. Until now he had managed to focus on merely practical problems and hope that things could be kept under control during the upcoming celebration – that being the most prudent issue for the moment, even tough world politics always loomed close by.

Jaina would bring her Elite Guard to the festivities, there was no discussion there. That, in combination with the alcohol the celebration would entail, had until now seemed like the most pressing recipe for disaster.

Lowering his hand, Thrall looked up at the crowded hall. So much to prepare, so much to balance, so many people running around. Except now they had stopped moving and watched him curiously, as the news of who the letter was from had spread quickly. Thrall's reaction to reading it could not have helped.

The human mage and his companion – moral support, Thrall suspected – also looked curious, although they tried to keep up a neutral expression. They could not have any idea what the letter said.

"Vol'jin," Thrall said, heard clearly in the sudden standstill.

"Ya?"

The troll straightened up in his full height above the heads of everyone, at the other end of the room. Thrall pondered telling him to come over and hear the news in private, but then thought better of it. It would cause surprise and very possibly an uproar – he might just as well let his people get used to the thought. Just when they were just beginning to struggle with accepting the Warchief's choice of a mate, now this too…

"We may have to rethink the drinking," Thrall said and raised the letter. "Tyrande Whisperwind has announced that she intends to attend the celebration, with a small following of course."

Vol'jin's mouth was not the only one which fell open.

The mage messenger looked around with an alarmed expression on his face as the room dissolved into a rising, agitated murmur. He still had no idea, not understanding the language spoken. Beside him, Thomas stood still, eyes wide – he did understand. If he believed to have heard it right was another thing.

"Silence!"

Thrall threw out his hands, and the grumbles and mutterings ceased immediately.

"We'll have night elves visiting," Thrall said, pointedly looking at Vol'jin. "Go tell all Darkspear men to behave themselves."

They all stared at him for a moment.

Then Vol'jin keeled over laughing, and the rest of the crowd soon followed.

Thrall too grinned, but it faded quickly as the very real risks of this new turn flowed through his mind. Oh, he certainly saw what this could mean for the political climate on Kalimdor, in fact it was a golden opportunity for peace – but then, he would have to keep everyone from punching anyone in their purple face. Until now he had only worried about pink faces.

For what it was worth, at least Vol'jin finally showed some other feeling than thinly veiled dislike for the sudden marriage.

Thrall shook himself out of his thoughts and looked down at the two humans.

"I will write a reply to this letter," Thrall said in Common, "just wait a moment."

Still looking rather dazed, they both nodded. The mage edged away from a laughing orc who had almost hit him with a careless – and rather crude – hand motion. Thrall reached for the table standing beside his throne, cluttered with papers with an ink pencil lying on top.

"Warchief!"

He looked up, seeing a Forsaken woman in a dark green robe duck and squirm her way through the crowd. In her hand, she held a letter. The human mage edged even further aside as the skeletal creature made it to the podium, but Thomas stood still, giving the woman a sharp look. Once she got closer though, he visibly relaxed although he too, only then, moved a little further away.

"Pardon the intrusion," the Forsaken said in a high-pitched, hoarse voice, "but Lady Sylvanas instructed me to give you this at once."

With a dreadful sense of misgiving, Thrall stopped reaching for pen and paper, and took the somewhat smelly message from the bony hand. He opened the letter, read it, and pressed a hand to the side of his face.

At least, the Dark Lady said that she had no intention to bring her pet dreadlord with her to the celebration. Small mercies.

Orcs, trolls, humans, tauren, night elves, and now also Forsaken, sitting in the same room and drinking alcohol. A message from the blood elves was expected to arrive any time now. Thrall could feel a headache creeping up on him.

The only thing this teetering calamity still lacked would be…

* * *

 

"Another messenger has arrived, my lady," a newly entered guard announced.

Jaina nodded at him to let the new guest in, but her eyes widened when she heard the sound of a pair of hooves clip-clopping against the floor outside. Something bluish moved behind the guard.

She was no oracle, but she simply _knew_ what the new messenger would have to say.

Oh, dear.

* * *

 

When Jaina appeared in Thrall's room that evening, she found him sitting by a table cluttered with papers, forehead perched in his palm. It was an odd scene – she had, intellectually, known that there must be times when he was out of his armor and doing paperwork, but actually seeing it made her blink. His huge bulk hunched in thought, a boulder-sized fist grasping a huge pen, and piles of papers waiting.

His scowl eased when he looked up and smiled in greeting, but the thoughtful look remained.

"How are you doing?" she asked, sitting down in the waiting chair on the other side of the table. It was a bit large, but she could sit comfortably regardless.

"I'm trying to plan on where to seat all the groups of guests during the celebration," he said, rapping a mostly empty paper with a huge pointing finger.

A circle had already been drawn on the otherwise blank surface. Jaina raised her eyebrows.

"You're not trying to do every little detail on your own, are you?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"No, somebody else could plan this and then I could simply approve. But then I would have somebody to blame if things get out of hand, and as satisfying as that would be I feel that this is too important."

Though she felt that perhaps his logic was a bit twisted there, she could sympathize with his worry. Worry does make people do things that aren't always strictly logical.

"At least Prophet Velen himself is not joining us," Thrall continued and shook his head again. "As much as I would be exalted to meet him under friendly terms, there's enough to worry about right now."

Jaina nodded with the empathy of one fully sharing the same troubles. They either had a great step towards possible peace on Kalimdor before them, or the makings of a greater disaster.

"Do you have any idea from where to begin?" she asked.

"Yes. Set the Forsaken as far away from the humans and draenei as possible and light incense."

His grin was a dry one, and she returned it with a similar smile. As sarcastic as that sounded, it was no joke.

"It may be a good idea to place the draenei away from the night elves as well," Jaina said, rubbing her forehead. "Even if they are allies, there will be a lot of drinking, and some elves can't get over their suspicion of the eredar."

When he looked at her as if to say "but they _aren't_ …" she shook her head and threw out her hands in a helpless gesture.

"And the draenei don't trust blood elves because of Prince Kael'thas and what happened to the naaru M'uru." Thrall allowed himself to slump backwards a little. "The blood elves and the night elves can't stand each other, and the humans aren't too fond of anybody on the Horde side. And still I wish we didn't have to divide my throne room between Alliance and Horde. That defeats the purpose of our marriage."

Jaina nodded agreement, while thoughtfully looking at the simple drawing. Despite Thrall's exasperation, she felt a little amused at the thought of this puzzle. It reminded her of some of the board games played in Dalaran, challenging all players' intelligence and ability to plan ahead. Almost like…

She glanced up at him, sitting there with a thoughtful look and his chin on a fist.

"It's pure tactic," she said. "You like this, don't you?"

With a – for him – soft chuckle Thrall straightened up.

"I admit, now that I have an advisor present who can tell me about the mindset of half the combatants…" He picked up the (just as long as her lower arm) pen again while she grinned at him. "I had an inkling about the night elves and the draenei. It is well to have it confirmed. Let us begin with the two of us."

He drew a J by the wall of the circle closest to him, then a G to the left of the first letter.

"Your guards and brother should of course sit at your side," he said, drawing a 'Hu' beside the J, then a 'KE' and T beside his G. "And my Elites beside me. Vol'jin, master Drek'Thar and a few others will also sit there. There are some more trolls too, and I would set them beside my guards."

No trolls and night elves too close to each other. Neither said so – it wasn't necessary to say that aloud.

Jaina pointed at the 'Hu', then circled the empty area below it.

"Would it be possible to place the tauren between the night elves and the draenei?" she said. "They share similar believes with the elves, and the draenei have no real reason to feel hostile towards them, as far as I know."

"Some tauren may regard it as rude if they are placed further away from us," Thrall said, but shrugged. "Although, if I explain to Cairne and let him tell them that they are protecting the peace, they should understand their importance." He wrote 'Tau' in the middle of the circle's right side. Then he let the pen hover over the upper empty area.

"No way around it, is there?" Jaina said.

"Sadly not. Let us hope that all the elves can deal with it." Thrall wrote 'BE' just beside the runes symbolizing the orcs and trolls – the two groups of elves would be facing each other across the room. Finally, pursing his lips in a way that made the corners of Jaina's mouth twitch, he wrote 'F' some ways down the circle wall, with a good distance between them and the blood elves.

The draenei would more or less face the Forsaken, and so would the tauren, but it would be at a wide distance.

Incense. Lots of it.

Finishing, Thrall put the pen down and studied the drawing for a moment. Then he nodded slowly and looked up at Jaina.

"Fair enough. There are some other matters for the celebration, but I've handed those things to other people."

She nodded with a chuckle, and Thrall smiled too. Then, however, a serious look took over.

"Getting back the blood elves, though," he said, "I fear it's only a matter of time until their leaders hear about Prince Kael'thas' threat. I'm surprised I haven't heard from them about that already."

"I was starting to wonder about that myself." Jaina sat back, watching him with concern. "What do you think that they'll make of it? They allied with you in the hopes of reaching him in Outland, didn't they?"

"Yes, although they would rather not admit that we are the brutish, uncouth means to an end."

He allowed himself to voice the truth he very well knew, only to her, and Jaina joylessly smiled in reply. It was one of those things that everyone was fully aware of. At the same time it was not quite fair – the elves were finding their place in the Horde, and he believed that many of them had actually been surprised at what they discovered along the way.

"It will be interesting to see their reaction, I admit," Thrall said, and his fangs gleamed in the light of the candles.

"Ah," Jaina said, smitten by his grim amusement. Yes, it would be quite a test of loyalty. Then her smile faded, and she watched him seriously. "They will probably want to speak with both of us."

He straightened up, nodding slowly.

"Have you ever met Lor'themar Theron?" he asked.

"No, apart from Kael'thas there weren't many highelves in Dalaran when I studied there. Do you have any idea what we can expect?"

"I'm afraid not. He is no fool, however, and neither are his advisors. The blood elves cannot afford to lose any allies at this point."

None of us can.

"Very true," Jaina said. Then her serious expression softened. "But speaking of which, I have some good news for you."

She reached into a pocket in her dress and drew out a letter with its seal broken. A small, twitching smile spread over her lips, and Thrall raised an eyebrow at the apparent, hardly controlled look of triumph.

"I received this today, as well," she said. "Part of it is for you."

He took the letter from her much smaller hands and looked down at the cracked wax symbol. The two pieces formed the seal of Ironforge. Blinking, he brushed the letter open with his thumb and drew out the paper within.

 

> _To Lady Jaina Proudmoore  
>  of Theramore_
> 
> Greetings,
> 
> The news caught us all by surprise, I must admit. Soon after, we received word from Stormwind, wanting to know our stance on the issue.
> 
> The political situation in the world demands that I and my people take a stand, yet I feel that I would be a fool to judge. Considering all, I am afraid that I cannot voice complete support of Your actions. That is not to say that I look down on Your decision, in fact I admit that it shows great courage. Your willingness to work for peace, if unconventional, is admirable.
> 
> We both know what the trade between Theramore and Menethil means to Ironforge, as well as the entire Alliance. This I will remind those who demand that I resent You and Your city.
> 
> This is my answer to Stormwind and to You, as King of the Dwarves: we will not take sides in this matter. We will not voice an opinion for or against You, but I will not tolerate harsh words from either side. Ironforge remains Your ally, as long as You remain ours.
> 
> _With well-wishes for Your marriage,  
>  King Magni Bronzebeard_
> 
> _To Warchief Thrall  
>  of Durotar_
> 
> Greetings,
> 
> I have often wondered if a day would come when there would be communication between us. The situation You and Your wife have created is an odd one. For now, I will wait and see what happens.
> 
> There is, however, one matter I feel obliged to bring up. In all honesty, it is something I should have let You know months ago, yet You too understand the tensions in the world. They hindered me from writing, although honor bids me, nay, demands I give thanks where gratitude is well overdue.
> 
> My daughter's fate is troubling and disturbing, not only to me personally but for all my people. Yet none of us would even have known about it, had our expedition to save her not been aided in their darkest hour by the orcs You sent into the cursed mountain. True, I do not know how You came to know of the abduction, or why Your people would risk their lives to save my daughter and protect our expedition. That, however, does not change the result.
> 
> Though princess Moira remains lost to us, You have my deepest gratitude, and the gratitude of the families whose sons and daughters Your people saved. Know this, although it is all I can offer You at this time.
> 
> _With well-wishes for Your marriage,  
>  King Magni Bronzebeard_

It was, perhaps, not much in essence – only a recognition of due gratitude. However, the mere fact that it had been written down at all and sent to him spread a wide grin over Thrall's lips, to match Jaina's expression. He lowered the letter, pressing his palm against the table to keep from roaring his elation.

So much hope had he put into that chance at a gesture of good will, and so badly had those hopes been dashed – that pain added to the tragedy and worry he could sympathize with, because the Dark Irons would surely be a great problem should they seize control of the dwarves' throne.

He stood up abruptly and moved around the table, reaching out and grasping Jaina about the waist as she got to her feet. He laughed, holding her to his chest, and she laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Hope.

"Until now I feared that King Bronzebeard would think I was under the same spell as his daughter," Jaina said, sighing relief between the triumphant chuckles.

Thrall set her down, shaking his head. The words and their sinister undercurrent just bounced off him. This was more than either of them could have hoped for, to have not only Tyrande but even Velen and King Bronzebeard voice careful agreement that the two of them were doing the right thing.

He was so grateful of Jaina, so full of joy that she simply existed and stood there smiling up at him, that he could not speak. He would have voiced all his emotions, but he simply could not, despite all his famed fluency with words. So he stroke her cheek, her shoulders, and when her eyes drifted closed he brushed his forehead to hers. The breathless laugh, hitching in her throat in a soft gasp, coiled electricity through him and he had to restrain himself again lest he would have crushed her to his chest with too much force.

Hope.

Such a beautiful, fresh feeling.

The next day, however, Stormwind made their move.


	8. Balancing Act

The gryphon couldn't take much more. It squawked desperately, exhausted, as frightfully aware as its rider of the cold waves beneath them. When the poor creature's wings gave in, there would be nothing to save them. Land was nowhere in sight, and nobody would hear the cries for help except possibly naga or murlocs.

Death by drowning or claws from below. Nothing else.

"Please, oh please just a little more…" the woman on the gryphon's back pleaded, voice thick with fear. She dug her hands into the soft, thick feathers and massaged the beast's neck, trying to instill some more strength into it by wishful thinking.

Another squawk, as if to assure her that it would still give its all to bring both of them to their destination – now their only hope for survival. They had flown far too far out, she had known it when she drove the gryphon ever onwards, but she had no choice. She could only hope that the other couriers had been wise enough to turn back before it was too late.

She squinted at the horizon, at the white sails rising above slender ships. Thank the Light, they were actually sailing towards her and the gryphon, if not in a straight line. The beast shrieked, determination filling its cry and it flapped its mighty wings.

They could make it.

The woman raised her hand and wiped her eyes without shame, not even caring to blame the wind. She knew it was relief. At the same time, dread touched her heart as she knew what would come next. The hand sunk towards her belt, touching the documents, the horrible, copied letters she had to deliver.

As it sunk, her hand passed the emblem covering her robe. The sun's rays glistened in the golden anchor embroidered on green cloth.

* * *

The surprisingly slow response from Stormwind, Jaina later figured, had to be due to a rush of messengers sent to every other kingdom and friendly race. The humans, when they spoke, resolved to carry as much weight of the entire Alliance that they could gather. This theory came from King Bronzebeard's mention of a demand for him to choose sides, and grew stronger when Jaina later received similar comments from Tyrande and Velen.

From the moment the emissary of Stormwind and his escort of ten soldiers stepped through the magical portal, it took about five minutes for all of Theramore to know about it.

As a result, Jaina herself was not even in the city when the guests had marched halfway up the main street. The moment she heard of it, she took off on a very important errand.

The troop and emissary was met by the entrance to the citadel by the chamberlain herself, as well as politely saluting members of Lady Proudmoore's own Elite Guard. Aegwynn kept a neutral smile as she spoke a greeting from the stair, looking down at the emissary on the road. He would probably have raised his chin even if he had not been further down than her, and either way he would not have been able to give her a condescending look from above even had they been standing on an equal level. He could still give her a condescending look either way, but she was taller than him.

He probably did know who he was speaking to – but he certainly did not believe her history to be anything but wild stories.

"My name is Sir Arthur Dunhave, sent to speak on behalf of His Royal Highness Anduin Wrynn and Highlord Bolvar Fordragon," he finally said after the minimum quota of pleasantries had been filled. "I am certain that you understand the weight of Stormwind's arrival in Theramore?"

It should not have needed to be a question, really.

"All of Theramore does, Sir, I assure you," Aegwynn replied without casting a single glance at the street behind the men. The nearby activity in the city had all but completely ceased, and curious, expectant faces were gazing out of the windows of the closest houses. Almost like the afternoon after the wedding, when Jaina held her speech – but on a smaller scale and a much different emotion in the air.

The chamberlain half turned and made a polite, inviting motion with her arm towards the open gates of the citadel.

"Allow me to show you inside, gentlemen," she said, "I regret to inform you that Lady Proudmoore is currently meeting with a representative of another faction, but she will see you shortly."

"Of course," Dunhave said, with the well-honed patience of a trained diplomat. As he walked up the stairs together with his men, he managed to keep his voice free of suspicion as he innocently asked, "may I inquire on what faction she is currently meeting with?"

"Ah, it is an emissary from Prophet Velen," Aegwynn said, her smile unwavering as she nodded. "You understand, I'm certain, that the draenei are very curious about what my Lady's marriage entails for the rest of Kalimdor."

"Yes," Dunhave said. "Yes, we all understand that."

Aegwynn hid her smirk as she turned to lead the way to the small dining hall where the men would be served refreshments, to give Jaina time to act.

The chamberlain loved getting to lie through her teeth for a good cause.

She led them to a waiting room where they were served fresh fruit and drink, then politely excused herself.

About twenty minutes later she returned, bringing Sir Dunhave to the throne room. Jaina sat on her throne, something she normally preferred not to do. This, however, was a special occasion.

As the required pleasantries were being exchanged between ruler and emissary, Aegwynn silently left again. The door remained open, and as she passed she signaled at the guards to leave it so.

Finally, the courtly exchanges were over with far enough to allow Sir Dunhave to bring forth the actual reason for his presence.

"I will say here and now, Lady Proudmoore, that my visit here is in no way intended as a challenge or threat," he said. "I regret having to say so, but I am certain that you understand why."

"I do, Sir," Jaina agreed, "and I appreciate the good gesture of your making that clear. Likewise, you and your escort have nothing to fear here, I assure you."

"Even so," the emissary started again, "you understand why I am here. Your recent actions are, by your own words, though I would not use the term otherwise, outrageous. It was quite a shock to the rulers of Stormwind and all the people under their protection, and as such, the Alliance remains unsure on where you and Theramore currently stand, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina nodded, slowly.

"Theramore has always needed to maintain some peace with the Horde," she said. "We sit precariously far away from our friends. On the other hand, the Horde has not made any move against us, save for the unfortunate business with my father a few years ago." She held up a hand when Dunhave opened his mouth again. "And may I remind you that it was the Warchief's forces who dealt with Onyxia after she cast off her disguise and fled Stormwind? Seeing as she made her lair dangerously close to us, Theramore has a debt of gratitude to pay."

"That aid was not necessary," Dunhave said, his voice under control. "We sent our own troops to root out the treacherous dragon, as you remember."

Jaina chose not to mention that Theramore had been forced to harbor those soldiers, with little compensation, for several days between their arrival and departure.

"Do not misunderstand me," she said instead, nodding again, "as the ruler of Theramore I am very grateful for that, as you graciously wished to deal with a fearsome monster that threatened us."

She could practically hear him think something along the lines of "and now you refuse aid in dealing with an even greater monster, with thousands of heads". Given the time, he may have managed to put that into politically correct words, and she felt no desire to hear it. Quickly, she clasped her hands behind her back and lowered her head in a thoughtful pose.

"Neither I, personally, nor Theramore have any intention to leave the Alliance," she said. "However, as I said, we are far away from human lands, and if it came to war we would not receive aid in time. I have entered the current arrangement with the orcish Warchief in order to ensure peace."

That message was so familiar by now, though she had worded it differently in each letter, that it regrettably sounded a little stilted as she spoke.

Dunhave slowly shook his head.

"My Lady," he said, "I commend your bravery and wish to protect your people with any means necessary. Yet we both know that this is not merely about Theramore and Durotar. The rest of the Alliance will not stand in silence and let Theramore be usurped by the Horde. These are troubled times, and we must stand united against our foes."

Jaina smiled sweetly and grasped three rolled up documents lying on the table beside her throne.

"Actually, Milord," she said, "I have received word from King Bronzebeard that he intends to remain neutral in this matter, and the gnomes agreed. They wish to wait and see the results unfold before they take a stand." He must have known that, but she did not say so. The next part, however, he probably did not have any idea about – and judging from the look in his eye, he had not. "Also, in exchange for a partial withdrawal of orc forces from Ashenvale, and organized cooperation of orc and tauren shamans with the Cenarion Circle to search for a cure for Felwood, High Priestess Tyrande has given her blessing to the union."

Let's not go into the fact that the discussion was in its infancy and being (so far) politely warred over, the orcs _needed_ that source of wood… Thrall might not support the slaughter of the forest, but where to find another nearby source of such fine building materials? 'A healed Felwood may be useful' could not float, not when everyone knew how long that poor forest had been sick and how far away it was. The elves needed to offer something more than just support of a marriage to compensate for what they asked of Thrall – not to mention that Tyrande had hinted at some difficulties with protests voiced by Archdruid Fandral Staghelm and others. The elves were far from in agreement amongst themselves, and neither were any of the other races. But Jaina had no intention to get into any of that right there and then. She needed a solid argument, and so far it seemed to work.

Before Dunhave could produce more than a hiss, eyes widening, Jaina waved the two documents. She had found a crack in his diplomatic correctness, and she intended to exploit it. Let it never be said that Theramore started with the arguments. If Stormwind wanted to bring this to a less civilized level, it would not be Jaina who took the first step onto that road – even though she could stand on the other side of the path and dare Stormwind to do that mistake. Dirty politics indeed, but she would only allow them to accuse her of foremost seeking peace on Kalimdor for the sake of her people.

She continued.

"And finally, Theramore is proud to announce that we will serve as meeting ground for the first dialogue between representatives of Warchief Thrall and Prophet Velen."

By the door, the two guards looked around as Aegwynn entered, a finger pressed to her lips. The motion was understood, and the guards tensed, as somebody followed the chamberlain through the door, with an impressive lack of noise. Jaina, however, acted as if nothing happened, and thus the emissary did not notice anything.

"You understand, of course, what this could mean for the Alliance?" Dunhave said, composing himself with admirable speed. "The night elves, and the draenei even more so, are new members of our council, and they may not understand the implications of their support."

"Yes, these are serious issues you bring forwards," Jaina said, nodding. Then, perfectly calm, she raised her gaze and looked past the emissary. "What do you say, dearest?"

The guards desperately stared at the ceiling and Aegwynn bit her lip as Dunhave spun around and recoiled, gasping and with a hand raised in useless – needless – defense at the sight of the orc standing a few feet behind him.

Warchief Thrall merely folded his arms across his mountain of a chest – very loud motion, that, because of his armor – and opened his mouth.

"You voice reasonable fear for the stability of the Alliance, yet I ask you and your sovereign to understand that it is in the interest of not only my spouse and I to prioritize stability on Kalimdor. Nay, it is crucial for all people living on this continent that peace be ensured in our respective realms, especially since, as you said yourself, these are troubled times. Also, I hold Prophet Velen and High Priestess Tyrande in the highest regard and if I may, since they are not here to speak for themselves, I would voice their assertion of full understanding of the situation. They have, after all, had the time to study the art of politics and diplomacy for far longer than anyone of us may hope to live, although their affairs with the other people of Azeroth have a shorter history."

He finished and watched Dunhave for a moment. The man stared up at the green face, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. When it came down to it, very few humans had actually ever met the Warchief, or heard him speak.

"Oh, pardon me. Was that too eloquent?" Thrall asked.

Jaina seriously feared that her lower lip would start to bleed, so hard was she biting down on it to keep from bursting out laughing. A glance of empathy in shared suffering flew between her and the guards at the door – she made a mental note to commend them for their poker faces. Aegwynn stood with her face dipped into a hand to hide her smirking, but her shoulders shook with mirth.

Credit where credit is due – Dunhave gathered his wits with admirable speed, although the glance he cast in Jaina's direction definitely had a wild edge to it.

"And pardon me," Jaina calmly said and waved her hand. "Warchief, let me introduce Sir Dunhave, emissary from Stormwind. Sir Dunhave, introducing Warchief Thrall, Lord of Theramore."

Dunhave threw a quick look between them, then stepped back and bowed his head to Thrall, just the slightest bit.

"Ah- yes, of course," the emissary said, clearing his throat. Though his voice sounded a little odd, he struggled to reclaim all his composure. "I was not expecting to see, hm, your Lordship."

"No matter," Thrall said, expression unmoving, "it was only a lucky stroke that I could be here to meet with Stormwind's representative today."

That was as truthful as Aegwynn's tale about what kept Jaina busy, earlier. No reason to tease the emissary _too_ openly, though, this was still a political game.

"Yes, an honor, of course," Dunhave said, although his hands twitched as if wanting to clench. He paused for a moment. "I do admit, the rumor of your eloquence seems well-founded, Lordship."

"Thank you," Thrall said, as calmly as before.

Jaina's smile faltered, however, and she wondered if Thrall felt the same – that compliment seemed too innocent, almost as if bedding for a more sinister-

"Indeed," Dunhave said, "it shows that my Lord was taught well by Sir Blackmoore."

The words ripped all amusement right out of Jaina's soul, and her gaze turned hard as steel as she stared down at the emissary.

Yet, Thrall's only reaction was slightly lowered eyebrows.

"Blackmoore, no," he said in a perfectly neutral voice. "The drunkard son of a traitor could not possibly teach anyone anything. The honor you would hand him belongs to Miss Taretha Foxton and a man I only ever knew as Sergeant. But, of course, that is neither here nor there." There was not, actually, any growl to his voice. One could very easily imagine it, however.

Dunhave visibly tensed, and rightfully so – even the guards did, although Thrall did not move a muscle apart from those he needed to speak. Jaina cleared her throat.

"If that is all Stormwind has to tell us on this matter," she said, "Theramore thanks Lord Fordragon and His Highness warmly for their concern. You and your escort are welcome to stay here and take part in the celebration of the wedding, Sir Dunhave."

The emissary muttered some words of gratitude for the time and offer, then stepped around the unmoving Thrall with as much dignity as could be mustered. One of the guards gingerly closed the door, shutting off the sound of rapidly leaving steps. One second. Two. Three.

"Permission to laugh, Milord, Milady?" the guard said in a tight voice, clutching the golden doorknob.

"Granted," Thrall said.

Both guards broke down.

Jaina would have laughed too, but she could no longer smile with Dunhave's words still poisoning the air. She stood up and briskly walked over to Thrall. When she touched his arm he blinked as if just waking up, and the blue eyes told her nothing when she looked up into them.

"I will return shortly after bringing the Warchief back to Orgrimmar," Jaina said, waiting until Aegwynn looked up and nodded in reply, still chuckling, before acting.

Silently, she laid both hands on Thrall's right arm and cast the spell.

They appeared not in Orgrimmar, but at a beach littered with rocks. In the shadow of jagged cliffs, their feet sunk into the sand, and waves peacefully lapped at the shore. Thrall blinked again, looking about with understandable confusion until Jaina spoke.

"We're just a bit north east of Theramore," she said, hands stroking his. "I come out here when I need to destroy something."

On a closer inspection, one might note that the rocks looked burned, and not naturally formed. Thrall slowly nodded and rolled his shoulders.

"I should not use my powers for such things," he said, and this time he did show his fangs in a growl. "But I pray the spirits will forgive me this one time."

Minutes later, many of the nearby rocks had been turned to slag. Water hissed and boiled as the waves rolled up against red-hot lumps, blackening them with cracking and pinging sounds accompanying the cooldown.

Jaina straightened, having worked off some of her own rage as well. Layers of ice caked across her side of the beach. It seldom helped much, but it was a relief at least. Noting that Thrall stopped moving, she turned around and walked towards him. He faced her in silence. The anger was gone from his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Jaina said as she stood in front of him.

He shook his head.

"You couldn't know," he said. "We both expected some jab, didn't we?"

"True, still…"

She fell silent, shaking her own head. They stood for a moment while the waves kept rolling in over the sand, pushing it around ceaselessly. The glow of magma had faltered, leaving only black chunks of rock.

Finally Thrall pulled himself out of it.

"You liked saying that, 'what do you think, dearest', didn't you?" he said, with the shadow of a smile.

"I want to make them learn to hate that phrase with a passion."

Then he finally smiled again, and dusted his hands off.

"You play a dangerous game there, Jaina."

"It's a risk I'm prepared to take, 'dearest'," she replied, and he actually chuckled.

He held out his hand and she laid her own in his palm, casting the spell. The two of them disappeared from the silent beach.

Going from the chilly, murky mist beneath the Dustwallow mountainside, to the warm Grommash Hold, was quite a shock. Not a too unpleasant one, though. It certainly smelled better – less salty, wet decay and more smoke, metal and leather. Those scents may not be overly great either, but in comparison it was a relief. The smell of the marsh always hung over Theramore on days with little wind, but here there was nothing of the sort.

The stares they got this time were not as intense as less than an hour earlier, when she just appeared after signaling Thrall with the help of their runes. With the emissary not giving a word of warning beforehand, she had simply been forced to wing it.

" _Stormwind wishes to have a word with me. I'm sure their representative would be thrilled to meet you as well, Warchief."_

That had caused quite a few snickers, and the surprised looks in the throne room now rapidly melted to viciously curious. Thrall glanced around and, shaking off the last of the unease, grinned at Jaina.

"Well," he said, thumb bending over her small hand in his to show that she needn't pull away just because people were watching, "that went well."

"He looked as if he had swallowed a frog," Jaina agreed.

This caused sneers and snickers all around amongst those who understood Common, and quick translations leading to more laughter for those who did not.

Amongst all the amusement around them, Jaina looked down at Thrall's fond grip of her hand. She hesitated, unsure how to act about that – her upbringing with court manners protested wildly against this public display of affection, small as it was.

Thrall seemed to notice, as he moved closer and murmured to her.

"You needn't be so formal here. If you are, they may actually think you don't want to be my mate." When she blinked, he added, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I didn't consider those habits."

"It's not how I was taught, no, but…"

She suppressed that wailing voice of her upbringing and laid her other hand on Thrall's. It was a small gesture, all she could bring herself to do for now, still taken by surprise by this culture shock. She would have to mentally sort this one out later.

The corner of Thrall's lips rose in approval, and she felt a stitch of triumph at that. Part of her felt aghast at her childish reaction, no matter how insignificant – that would be the same part that had just been howling about proper behavior.

But, intriguing and new as this situation was, both she and Thrall knew that she had to return to Theramore. Jaina opened her mouth to say as much, preparing to leave, when another, singing voice broke in.

"Pardon me, Warchief, Lady Proudmoore."

They both looked up, and it was with a sinking feeling Jaina found that the lovely voice did, indeed, belong to a blood elf. She stood beneath the steps leading up to the throne, draped in a fine, green dress with gold embroideries. The fel green eyes were calm, but that may as well only be because of discipline.

"Ambassador Dawnsinger," Thrall calmly said, but his thumb brushed Jaina's fingers.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Proudmoore," the blood elf said, bowing her head briefly. "If I may ask for a moment of your time?"

"What is it, Ambassador?" Jaina said, turning to face the elf. Thrall let go of her.

Jaina could actually brave a guess at what exactly the matter was, as could her husband. Dawnsinger's expression did not change.

"There have been worrisome rumors about our Prince Kael'thas threatening you some days before the wedding, my Lady," she said. "Silvermoon wishes to know what the truth behind these stories are."

"Of course," Jaina said, hoping that she looked less tense than she felt. "I will gladly explain everything that happened to you, for your sovereigns."

"I have already contacted my superiors in Silvermoon City," Dawnsinger said, turning her face towards Thrall instead. "With your permission, Warchief, Lord Theron wishes to speak directly with your mate. If you agree, I will help my Lord's image to appear here."

"I am fine with that if she is," Thrall said just as calmly, but a line appeared on his forehead – either at the Ambassador's choice of words, tossing Jaina's choice out of the equation, or at whatever might come next.

Dawnsinger's long, elegant eyebrows twitched, realizing that perhaps she could have handled that differently. She caught herself admirably, however, and looked back to Jaina.

"I will gladly speak with Lord Theron if he wishes it," Jaina said. As she said so, she did make a slight motion towards Thrall – this was his seat of power, and in her view it was his place only to decide what was allowed and what was not. He had already given permission, but otherwise she would have asked his opinion.

"Many thanks for your graciousness, my Lady," Dawnsinger said and took a step back, moving her hands away from her sides. "I shall act as a conduit."

Her green eyes slipped closed and her lips moved in a murmur. A flash of light danced from her hands and hit the floor a couple of steps in front of her, forming a glowing circle on the ground. An outline rose up within it, gracefully filling up with colors and shadows to form a tall blood elf with long, silvery pale hair held up in a high ponytail and spilling over his shoulders. A fine cloak, probably embroidered with the seal of Silvermoon, hung over his back and accentuated the light, red and golden armor he wore.

It took almost until the very end of the swift forming of his image, before Jaina saw how one of his eyes glowed fel-green, but the other laid dull, blind.

As the spell finished, the blood elf looked first at Thrall and saluted.

"Honored Warchief."

Thrall silently nodded in return. Lor'themar turned towards Jaina and bowed.

"Lady Proudmoore." His voice was smooth and melodic, just as most other elves'. Just a slight accent tinted his Common, commending rather than muddling it. "The blood elves and I extend our warmest wellwishes to you, as we already have to your husband."

"Thank you most graciously, Lord Theron," Jaina replied. She lightly grabbed her long skirt and curtseyed as befitted the greeting of a Regent Lord. Straightening, she continued, "I understand that you are all disturbed by rumours you might have heard."

Lor'themar's smile faded, and he grimly nodded.

"I would have wished our first conversation to be of more pleasant things, my Lady," he said. "Your honored husband told us earlier today that we ought to ask you to tell the whole story, as you alone can tell it entirely."

"Of course. I ask you for patience – what I will say may surprise you, but I only repeat what happened and what was spoken on that night."

Jaina recounted the sudden appearance of the Sun Prince in her bedroom, with as much detail as she could. Her memory of every exact word spoken could not be perfect, she knew, but she retold the conversation as well as possible. Throughout, Lor'themar stood silent, but at Kael'thas' "brutish embrace" comment his long eyebrows twitched slightly and his mouth tightened. In the background, some of the shamans and Kor'kron Elites snorted or growled, sounding more amused than disturbed however. That light tone changed on the Prince's parting words, becoming disbelief and scorn at best, and Lor'themar's gaze hardened. Jaina, not feeling very at ease with repeating Kael'thas' threats in public, especially not to his own people, felt no better at that.

As Jaina fell silent Lor'themar opened his mouth. Then he suddenly glanced to the side, at something or somebody catching his attention on his end of the world. A flash of annoyance passed in his eye, creasing his fine brow.

"Lord Rommath, please!" he said, in a low but commanding tone. Turning back, he returned his face to a neutral expression. "Pardon, friends. There are many others listening, and these are worrisome and unpleasant tidings indeed."

"Truly, they are."

Jaina pursed her mouth, thoughtfully pressing her thumb and pointing finger to her chin.

"My Lord," she said, "as I said, I repeat only what the apparition said to me. I could not swear that the illusion who spoke to me was truly sent by Prince Kael'thas. However, if it was indeed a fake, and let us hope so, it was very well done."

Lor'themar glanced to the side again, nodding as he listened to somebody speaking for a few moments. Finally he raised a hand towards them, asking silence. That done, he turned his attention back to Jaina.

"There are already troubled reports reaching all of us from Outland," he admitted. "None of us here in Silvermoon City wish to think that they are true. As per your own doubts, my Lady, I would allow for hesitation in this matter. It should not lie in our Prince's interest, nor his personality, to be so uncouth towards any lady. Especially not one of your status."

Yet the words were 'should not', instead of 'does not'. Jaina full well noticed that, as he surely intended, but she did not give any sign of it.

"I agree," she said instead. "I have fond memories of Prince Kael'thas from the Violet Citadel. He was always a gentleman, and would never have said anything of the sort."

Keyword being 'was', and the undercurrent of 'not back then'. Right now, things were so very, very odd in Outland, but the blood elves were apparently far from ready to accept any foul words about their Prince.

Lor'themar slowly nodded, and his smile returned with a tiny hint of relief to it.

"It warms my heart to hear that you keep good memories of our Prince," he said. "Let us wish that future dealings between our people will be free of such uncertainties."

"Indeed," Jaina agreed. "I would not wish to inflict any pain upon your people, and I only regret that I must bring you such disconcerting tidings."

"No one would place the blame on you, my Lady," Lor'themar replied.

His voice was honest, but Jaina was left feeling that many blood elves would prefer to call her a liar. The Regent Lord bowed his head.

"I thank you for your clarifications, Lady Proudmoore, and for now bid you the warmest of farewells," he said.

"May the Light bless you and all your people, Lord Theron," Jaina replied and returned his gesture by bowing her own head.

Lor'themar exchanged a brief farewell with Thrall, then faded away. The light sunk back into the floor and Dawnsinger straightened, opening her eyes for the first time since she cast the spell. Mumbling some thanks, she quickly left, unable to keep her eyebrows from sinking low in worry.

"Seems I rattled them," Jaina muttered to Thrall as she felt sure the elf was out of earshot.

"It couldn't be helped." He gave a small, grim smile. Then he nodded and spoke louder. "We have kept you long, I believe."

"No matter, it was an important issue. I will see you later," Jaina replied and took a step back.

Still they watched each other, and she felt the others in the room looking on as well. She found herself looking forwards to the evening, when she could speak with Thrall about all the things that had happened in private. But there was no time, nor was it the place, for that now. The teleportation spell was so ingrained in her being that she brought herself from Grommash Hold to her own throne room as easy as she breathed.

In all honesty, it was a relief to return to Theramore, after that meeting with Lor'themar. Jaina even allowed herself a soft sigh as soon as she appeared before the throne, despite being watched by the others in the throne room. Luckily, those were still only Aegwynn and the guards. The Lady took note of that only when the sound had already escaped her.

"We were getting worried, my Lady," Aegwynn commented, tilting her head in a silent question.

"Pardon, there were some matters of state in Orgrimmar as well," Jaina said, and briefly explained the blood elves' query. Then she begun to ask, "Has anything else of importance happened here while I-"

The sound of shouting and heavy footfalls from outside cut her off and she looked up, frowning. Before anybody could react, the door to the throne room was ripped open. The first flash upon the eyes only caught the green cloth with its gold embroideries, hung over finely hammered armor.

Jaina's breath caught in her throat as her brain caught up with the sight before her. The protests from the guards faded to a mumble in the background.

In the doorway, blond hair and beard standing on end and his face grey as ashes, stood Lord Admiral Tandred Proudmoore.


	9. Family ties

The first shock gave away for icy determination and Jaina's face hardened. She had not been sure what to expect from her last living brother, but she would have thought that he would write her back. That he appeared here, suddenly and alone, told her beyond any doubt that he wanted to deal with this issue personally.

"I am glad to see you, brother, but shouldn't you travel with an escort?" she said, keeping her voice neutral.

Aegwynn's expression hardened as well, and the guards finally caught up with the facts. They hurriedly recoiled from trying to hold the wild-eyed man back. Tandred crossed the floor, the carpet on the ground doing nothing to soften the (in Jaina's ears thundering) steps. For a moment she thought that she saw not him, but their father – moments before Daelin Proudmoore had declared her unfit to rule and shoved her aside to nearly damn Theramore in his hatred for the orcs.

"Jaina, Jai–" Tandred's voice broke. He reached her, grasping her hands with gloved, trembling fingers.

She blinked. In his stare there was fury, true. But more than that, there was fear. He swallowed hard, and spoke again before she could collect herself.

"Why didn't you call for me?" he asked, "I would have done anything, anything to help!"

Light. Tandred didn't at all think she had betrayed her family and the Alliance. He thought her a victim. The realization threatened to crumble the very base of Jaina's determination – in relief or dread she did not know. Relief for his lack of rage towards her, and dread because she would have to correct him, thus coaxing that rage into existence.

She shook her head.

"Oh no, no, no," she said, trying to gather her wits.

"Jaina, just thinking about him touching you…"

Tandred faltered, looking like pride alone kept him from tears. It cut like a dagger in Jaina's heart – anger and shouting she had been prepared for, but not this despair. She squared her jaw and straightened up.

"Let us discuss this in private, brother," she said.

Clenching her grip of his hands, she cast a spell that brought both of them out of the throne room and to her private quarters. Tandred stumbled at the dislocation, but caught himself quickly.

"How could this happen to you?" he blurted, his face painfully tight. "What did we do to deserve the Horde picking us off one by one? First Derek, and–"

"Tandred, Tan," Jaina said, hoping the childhood nickname would help soothe him. Wriggling one hand out of his grip to place it on his shoulder, she looked him in the face. "Listen to me, you judge the Warchief too harshly."

Tandred opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then straightened up.

"He killed our father." This time, his voice was deep and hard.

Jaina pursed her lips and looked away, unable to meet her brother's gaze.

_No, he didn't._

"And now he wants to claim your life as well."

_It's not like that. But you will hate me for it._

"How can you ask me not to judge him as his actions deserve? I read copies of your letter to Stormwind, you were more honest to them about the situation. You don't have to wrap it in silk for me!"

That was more than enough to break her numbness. She firmly shook her head.

"You've got that wrong, it's the opposite," she said. "Stormwind and the other kingdoms would be quick to condemn, if I didn't convince them that this union is something they recognize. You know that there have been political marriages of this kind throughout all of human history. Heirs betrothed while still in the cradle–"

"That's different!" Tandred threw up his arms. "That's diplomacy! What is this? You, sitting here trapped on the edge of a swamp! He's got half the world's armies at his beck and call–"

"It's not so simple," Jaina sharply said. "An attack against Theramore would have started a world war, and Thrall would never risk that."

"So he proposes instead, with his armies standing silently on the horizon?" Tandred furiously paced as he spoke, waving his hands at the windows.

Jaina's eyes narrowed. True that Thrall rather saw the Alliance blaming him for the marriage, but this bitter passion tipped the scales dangerously. They certainly did not want people deciding she needed "saving."

"He was not the one who made the suggestion," she said in a steady voice. When Tandred spun around and stared at her, she added, "That's something not many will know about."

"You–"

He fell silent, and then leaned his face in a hand.

"Your people would not ask of you to do so much for them," he finally said. "It's inhumane."

Still he refused to see what she tried to tell him. Seeing how the truth of the proposal passed him by, Jaina chose not to press the similar facts immediately. She could not tell how he would react, if she had right at that moment told him of the emotions she shared with Thrall.

"The people of Theramore remember a time when they fought alongside the orcs," Jaina said instead, her tone stricter than she had intended. "There are threats to all life on Azeroth still, we cannot afford to fight the Horde when the real danger–"

"Jaina!" He cut her off, striding up in front of her. Watching her face, he took in a deep breath. "Your reasoning is a leader's, but I'm thinking about _you_."

"Tan." She held up both hands. "You don't…"

However, he silenced her again by once more enclosing her hands in his, gazing at her with pain and not just a little fear in his eyes.

"Answer me," he croaked. "Has this marriage been consummated?"

She looked at him, and wished that she could have put his mind at ease with a word. This was not a pompous diplomat from Stormwind or any raging dissenter. This was her brother, torn apart by worry for her.

Yet, no matter if she told the truth or lied, it would not help him – to simply say it had not yet happened would lend him defense to an impossible argument to have the wedding nullified. To claim it had happened would underscore his horror.

"Listen to me, Tan," she said. "There's something you just don't understand. Will you listen and not interrupt me?" She waited until he had given a numb nod before she went on. "Since the wedding, I have gone to Orgrimmar to sleep beside him. People _know_ this."

The last she emphasized to make sure he understood that this alone made a barrier against any annulment. Nobody would believe that her going off to share the Warchief's bed meant anything else. Jumping to conclusions, Tandred let hear a tortured groan. Jaina shook her head and continued.

"To sleep beside him." He looked up with a start. "I tell you the truth because you're hurting for my sake. You needn't be. He waits, he was the one who said to wait, until I feel ready."

"You… have not, then?"

_You and Kael'thas, minds in the gutter…_

But a small, scornful voice deep down inside Jaina questioned her own innocence in that matter. She ignored it.

"No," she answered his question. Then she pursed her mouth. "But I will. He is my husband, Tan!"

For a moment he just stared at her, working his jaw. Then he let her hands go, and ice ran through Jaina's entire body, expecting his condemnation.

"No. No, why would he do that?" he said, hoarsely, shaking his head and looking away. "You're only trying to soothe me."

"Tan–"

He snapped his face back towards her, a tortured scowl digging into his forehead.

"And what of… heirs?" he demanded. "Are you going to have me see you dead in childbirth, to put a half-orc on– which throne?"

"Enough!" Jaina's fists clenched, arms rigidly shooting down along her sides.

Tandred actually jumped at her tone. She met his disbelieving stare with narrowed eyes.

"I can force you to be silent with a single spell," Jaina said. "I'd rather not, but you need to calm down and listen to me."

"How can I be calm, Jaina?" he shot back, bitterness and confusion mingling in his voice and expression.

"You don't know Go'el." When Tandred looked at her in bewilderment, she quickly corrected herself, trying not to let the sheepish feeling dent her resolve. "Thrall. Go'el is his real name, according his grandmother in Outland."

"You _do_ meet with him. You've done so the whole time!" He paced up and down the room, hands slicing the air again. So much for staying calm.

"As I've told you," Jaina pointed out. "It should be fairly apparent at this point that I have done that for years."

"I never imagined it was something like this!" he snapped, and Jaina clenched her teeth hard. "The Alliance would have your head! They may want your head now!"

"Sometimes we don't have the luxury of enough time to call on a formal meeting." She folded her arms across her chest. "The Warchief has been my friend and one with whom I could always discuss the strains between our nations and factions efficiently. And not only that, but anything we have felt like talking about." Then, even colder, "Do you despise me?"

He spun around, glaring at her.

"Despise you?" he growled. "I came here thinking you had been forced into marriage by that orc! If anybody called you orc whore I'd wring their goddamn necks off and now–"

He shrunk back, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

"… now I'd still wring their necks, but Light, Jaina! Why?"

"You have not met him. You haven't heard him speak, you haven't seen what he's capable of in diplomatic matters. He changed the orcs – he made them, the trolls and the tauren cooperate with us and the night elves and defeat the demon Archimonde. He would have reasoned with father rather than fought him. He sent his forces to save King Bronzebeard's daughter and to slay the dragon Onyxia."

It was a speech, and she had planned to bring it out whenever necessary – albeit not for him. But perhaps it suited his ears better than a diplomat's.

Tandred opened and closed his mouth a few times. Then he abruptly turned, but only partly away from her, and pressed a hand to his eyes.

After a moment, hearing her pulse rush through her ears, Jaina walked closer and touched his arm. He straightened and faced her, conflicting emotions, mainly confusion, flitting around in his gaze. Still he did not know what to believe, and it would surely take time. But she was more relieved than she could say, that his rage seemed to have deflated, and his promise to punish anybody speaking ill of her made her heart flutter in gratitude. Not because she felt as if she needed the protection, but because he was still her brother. He did not hate her.

"Your wish to defend me means the world to me," she said. "I didn't know what to expect."

Sighing, he shook his head. When he didn't speak, she opted to try steering the discussion to more practical matters to give them both some breathing room.

"What are people in the Eastern Kingdoms saying?" she wondered.

"How would I know, they look at me and they only see the sad remains of a once great fleet. Jaina…" he looked torn, and spoke bitterly with an expression of disgust at his own words, "Kul Tiras is weak, and me having an orc as a brother-in-law won't help us gain the allies we need."

That flutter of gratitude blasted apart and her eyes narrowed at his half-accusing her of further damning her homeland. However, she controlled herself – it was another reality she had already considered for a long time. The knowledge didn't make it hurt less to hear those words from him, though.

Wetting her lips to calm herself, she wrestled the anger aside.

"King Bronzebeard has stated that he refuses to condemn this union," she said. "He may actually be annoyed at Stormwind's insistence that he do so. You could find allies there, if you voice support of the dwarves' neutrality."

"But I…" he paused and rubbed his eyes, then gave her a pained glare. "Jaina, _I'm_ the ruler of Kul Tiras."

"You don't have to take my ad–"

"But I'm grateful for that information," he quickly cut her off. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm just so upset. How do you expect me to deal with this? Politics be damned, I'm fearing for you, I tell you."

Jaina swallowed hard against the tightening lump of tears in her throat. She prided herself on her control. She wanted to be angry at him, but when he spoke and looked at her like that, she saw nothing but a worried brother. They were both staring at the last family they had. Months and years of holding back tears in the face of horrible odds threatened to crumble at that fact.

"I know," she said, reaching out to hug him as if they were still children. "I know, I'm sorry I frightened you." Her voice wavered once, but then her willpower proved stronger than the sobs.

Tandred returned the hug, squeezing her back protectively with strong, if slightly shaking arms.

"You really are happy about this, then?" he murmured after a moment, stepping back so that he could look her in the eye. The anger was gone, but the hesitance remained.

Jaina nodded.

"I am, I swear it," she said.

He opened his mouth, then closed it and finally just sighed, looking away.

A few seconds passed. Jaina gave him time to breathe and try to begin processing this whole thing properly before she asked her next question.

"Will you come with me to the celebration in Orgrimmar, Tan?" she asked, smiling carefully as she touched his arm. "You should meet my husband."

Tandred turned back to her, and wet his lips nervously.

"I… of course." His shoulders slumped.

For a moment Jaina hesitated, but there was something she had thought about for several minutes already.

"Actually… perhaps you should meet him in person before the celebration?" she suggested.

He gave her a wary look.

"There will be time to speak with him later," Jaina continued, "but if you get it over with you may feel better."

"I would…" He paused, considered it for a second and finally shook his head. "No. Not right now, at least. I could not remain calm."

She merely nodded, and didn't make a comment about intending to tell her husband about all of this, later. Tandred did not look as if he could handle something like that.

After gently guiding her brother to an armchair, she went to the door and asked for a servant. As a maid quickly answered the summons, Jaina ordered that tea should be brought. With rum. Aegwynn had the right idea about that. When the maid had curtseyed and hurried off, Jaina sat down in the armchair opposite Tandred's. The wild look may have gone from his eyes, but he still rubbed his face nervously.

"There is one thing, Tan," Jaina said, watching him seriously.

He sat up straight as if stung.

"What?" he asked.

"First of all, please try to stop hyperventilating," she said, smiling in an attempt to calm him down. Then she cleared her throat and started again. "An emissary from Stormwind, Arthur Dunhave, arrived earlier today. He acted fairly politically correct, but the message is clear that Stormwind is not at all amused."

Tandred's eyes darkened.

"They would still claim ownership of Theramore?" he asked.

"Would you support them?" she asked back, studying him.

He opened his mouth, then did a double take and caught on. A tortured scowl overtook his features.

"Jaina," he said, and it sounded almost like a plea for mercy.

It went beyond Theramore as a Kul Tiras colony – theoretically, as the population was far more mixed – which Stormwind would rather see under its protective ownership. Now it was a question of supporting, even defending, this alliance with the Horde.

"I don't mean to upset you," Jaina said, shaking her head. "But he will talk to you at the first opportunity he gets. He'll try to get under your skin about this."

"I would…!" Tandred paused and took a few deep, calming breaths. "I would not let myself be manipulated."

Watching him, however, Jaina felt rather uncertain about that claim. She trusted him, but he was distraught enough to be swayed by any silver-tongued speaker who could throw more doubt onto his fears.

To cement his shaky belief in her being just fine with the situation, she told him at length about the reactions from King Bronzebeard and the other Alliance leaders. Tandred read their letters with a frown, eyes widening as he saw Tyrande's declaration that she would take part in the celebration in Orgrimmar.

The tea arrived, and the letters were set aside. However, the maid looked up as she put down the tray, and looked at Jaina.

"My Lady, I was asked to let you and the Lord Admiral know that a small troop of Kul Tiras soldiers appeared through a portal moments after Lord Tandred's arrival," she said.

Jaina glanced at Tandred, who looked rather sheepish.

"Perhaps I rushed off from my ship a little quickly," he said.

Jaina got a mental image of him, wild with worry as he had been when he arrived, shaking down the nearest mage for a portal. It was somewhere between touching and tragic, for his concern and lack of understanding. She nodded to the maid, smiling.

"Let them know that the Lord Admiral is well, and that I ordered for them to receive accommodations," Jaina said.

The maid curtseyed and left. In silence, Jaina poured tea for Tandred and herself.

Some time to calm down and reading those messages had done a good job on Tandred, Jaina could see it in his lowered shoulders. The distant, concerned look remained, however, even as he sipped his tea.

"Stormwind," he finally said, putting his cup down on its saucer. "Are you worried about them?"

Jaina had to suppress a smile. There was something there, of a brother wanting to protect his sister even if she was fully capable of doing so herself. Yet it was a step in the right direction and she could keep nudging him that way. Especially since she truly was worried about this matter.

"They lost many teeth when Tyrande and Velen gave their support, and the others chose to stay out of it," she said. Then she pursed her mouth and looked at the tea. "I don't doubt that Stormwind will try to find some way to make things more complicated. They could claim I am insane or under a spell, or find some obscure law annulling this marriage."

"Or they could try to get me to declare you under my guardianship, and that you could not have made this choice for yourself. Then perhaps they would have me marry you off to, say, Lord Fordragon, or King Wrynn should we ever find him," Tandred said, teeth clenched though he rolled his eyes at the improbability of such marriages. "That is what you worried about, wasn't it?"

Although she would have liked to deny thinking such things, Jaina could not. She slowly nodded, setting her cup aside.

"I tried to think of everything before the wedding," she said, "but I may have missed something they could try to twist for their purposes."

Tandred nervously pulled at his short beard.

"Paranoia is the last thing I need right now," he said, "but think of the worst case scenario. Stormwind uses this to declare you an unsuitable leader and manages to overthrow you. Then I would have to stand up and protect Theramore, which Stormwind could use as an excuse to declare war on Kul Tiras. I honestly don't know if we could win as we stand right now. It would cost them dearly, but…" He trailed off.

"I have thought of that, believe me. With support from the night elves and the draenei, however, I don't think that Stormwind would dare to do it."

"I don't know, Jaina. Their politics have been very strange lately. Even if Lady Prestor was scheming to- where is her head?" He gave a start at his own words, as if the realization about Onyxia suddenly hit. "They– the orcs took her head, didn't they?"

Jaina smiled and reached for the tea pot to refill his cup.

"In Orgrimmar, although Go'el bade me to ask the leaders of Stormwind if they wanted it as a gift. Didn't you say you had read a copy of my letter?"

Tandred stared at her for a moment and then sunk backwards, shaking his head and letting out a short, breathless laughter.

"I wasn't in a mind to notice that part when I read," he said. "Light…"

Though his chuckle was in the same family as a hysterical laugh, Jaina nodded in agreement and gave him an approving look. Then she smiled again, one of those not very kind ones.

"The real issue is, though – and I'm sure Stormwind understands this after Go'el spoke with their emissary today – is that–"

"Wait, what?" Tandred shot up straight again.

Sipping her tea with a carefree air, because it made her chuckle again despite Dunhave's low blow at the end, Jaina retold the entire affair. At the end Tandred was shaking his head again, leaning it on a fist.

"You're playing with fire," he commented.

"Perhaps, but I will not let Stormwind think that they can intimidate me or Theramore," she said. "The thing is, you understand, now they know that if they make one single move against me, Go'el will know it and he will not sit idle." She sobered. "But the one thing I know could be problematic is if you did claim I am under your guardianship. I was worried, I admit that."

"Huh." He was silent for a moment. "You wouldn't have accepted it, though."

She shook her head with determination.

Neither of them dared to say a word about what happened last time a male member of the Proudmoore family pushed Jaina aside and seized control of Theramore.

"I would have put up a fight, though it would have hurt me a lot," she said.

He hummed, leaning back and rubbing his forehead.

"Are you worried that Stormwind plans to make a move against Kul Tiras?" she asked.

"I may still be paranoid after all the things Lady Prestor, Onyxia, was doing. Everyone was on edge. Still…" Tandred straightened up, pursing his mouth. "If Lord Fordragon is in control of himself again, there should be nothing to fear. But my informants tell me that many people in the human kingdoms say that Stormwind ought to prove itself as the capital of the Alliance. It's not just the common people, either, many nobles are frothing around the mouth."

"A war amongst our nations would play us right into the hands of the Legion and the Scourge, can't they see that?" Jaina said, sighing as she sat back. Of course they did not see it. It was exactly that kind of squabbling that let the Plague fester until it was too late for Lordaeron. It was that kind of squabbling that bolstered the ranks of the Scarlet Crusade and left the people of Alterac to suffer to this day, never forgiven although twenty years had passed since their king betrayed the Alliance.

"It wouldn't be war," Tandred dryly said. "It would be a friendly take-over to protect the people of Kul Tiras. The nobles in Stormwind quiver at the thought of having our fleet, small as it is now, under their command. Now they'll start screaming that we're supporting the Horde, too."

He gave her a pained look.

"I'm sorry, Jaina, I don't mean to accuse you but they will fall over every argument they can find."

"I know," she said, trying to smile as he refilled her cup as a gesture of a clumsy peace offering. "Thank the Light that Lord Fordragon is a sensible man."

"He is not the king, however," Tandred said. "I shudder to think what would happen if he was schemed out of the way and replaced with somebody dead set on taking these everyday skirmishes with the Horde to an all out war." Again he pulled at his beard. "I don't like the Horde, I won't lie. I fear them a great deal, no matter what you say. But it's only the senseless, hotheaded fools who don't realize what would happen if we exhausted our resources fighting each other."

"I don't think demons giggle in glee, but I can picture them rubbing their hands," Jaina said. She had to suppress a shudder at the mental images of the Scourge pouring across the landscape, feasting on the wearied spoils of war. She had seen it before and on Hyjal.

_Arthas…_

He would be the first to rub his hands, but the Legion would surely find a way to storm into Azeroth and finish the job. It would be undead against demons fighting over the remains of a once thriving world.

She shook herself out of it.

"I truly hope that King Wrynn will be found soon," she said. "He would be far more difficult for ambitious nobles to get rid of than Lord Fordragon."

At that time, she had no idea that she would look back on this discussion, and her picturing King Wrynn as a defense against rash, hotheaded nobles, with more knowledge and a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Either way, if I may issue a practical protest myself," Tandred said, giving her a joyless smile. His voice did not quite manage to hold through the jocular tone. "You did certainly put a strain to the rules of noble courtship."

Glad to move the topic onwards, Jaina nodded and returned his attempt of a smile with a faint one of her own.

"Go'el stretched the rules for orcish traditions as well," she said. "Before anything else, we should have gone on a courtship hunt and then worn some trophy from that as a sign of being married, but he settled on counting the battle of Hyjal as that hunt." She smiled wider, though with a grim undertone. "Not many things from there make good trophies to wear."

She almost said "mated" instead of "married" but stopped herself in time.

"I'm sorry, that sounds terribly… brutish." The pause underlined Tandred's struggle to find some word that was not too insulting.

"I know. Go'el once explained to me that it's not about the killing of game, though, at its heart it's a test to see if you can cooperate and live together."

"But what about them?" Tandred asked. His voice and the look on his face made it clear that he still could hardly believe he was even having this conversation. "He's their king, doesn't that demand even more conduct than you ignored yourself?"

"At the wedding, the Far Seer Drek'Thar stated, as I understand, that I have proven worthy to be part of the Frostwolf clan. Go'el's clan," Jaina replied. "We will finish that ceremony at the celebration. It's not ideal, but we didn't want to give anything away beforehand. Nobody knew anything about it until the very day, for safety's sake."

The last was a lie, but an extremely white one. It would only hurt him if he knew that she had affirmed her chamberlain's correct guess, but not breathed a word about it to her own brother. However, he must know what would have happened if Jaina had told him – that knowledge probably did not make him feel any better, though.

Tandred was silent for a moment, just watching her. Then he slumped backwards, groaning and pressing a hand over his eyes.

"My sister is an honorary orc."

Jaina would have laughed, but at her own last comment a thought struck and she frowned.

"You haven't even heard about Prince Kael'thas, have you?" she asked.

"What, the blood elf?" Tandred's hand dropped, and he looked at her in confusion.

Pursing her mouth, Jaina straightened up and for a second time that day relayed the story about the nightly visit. At first, Tandred's eyes widened until finally narrowing in a scowl.

"That cur! How dare he?" he snarled, slamming his fist into the chair's plush armrest.

"Go'el was, to put it mildly, not amused," Jaina finished.

"I see I have to agree with him on something, then. Did the blood elves in Silvermoon have anything to say about that?"

Nodding, Jaina told him of the meeting just a little over an hour before. In the end, Tandred shook his head.

"They don't want to believe it," he flatly commented.

"I do believe Lord Theron is aware that something isn't right," Jaina said. "Of course, that disbelief was the only way they could duck condemning or supporting Kael'thas in this. They certainly couldn't say he had a right to act as he did, not to Go'el's face at least. Without the support from the Horde they wouldn't stand a chance right now."

"Light have mercy…"

Tandred rubbed his face and looked at her, and as he did, realization flashed in his eyes. It left him with a bleak expression rather than an enlightened one, however.

"It's been, what, two days since the wedding, and you are already that deep into Horde politics." A sound like a mix of a laugh and a groan escaped him. "I didn't even know they _had_ politics. It always seemed like he had the whole Horde in the palm of his hand."

"Hardly." Allowing herself a sigh, Jaina shook her head. "The Warsong Outriders don't agree with him about ceasing the battle with the Silverwing Sentinels, and there are some orc clans that refuse to follow him. And those are just the orcs. There's as much political squabble in the Horde as in the Alliance."

"Unbelievable." Tandred sat silent for a moment, absently rubbing his jaw line. Then he looked up and frowned. "What's that?"

As he pointed, Jaina looked down and saw a soft glow shine through the cloth of her skirt. Even as she dipped her hand into the pocket and drew out the magical rune, the glow faded only to return. Jaina just watched it for a second, knowing that Thrall's rune glowed in reply at this very moment. Two glows meant it was important. The light died away, then flared up a third time.

The signal system might be simple, but clear enough – it was _really_ important. And that surely equaled unpleasant. Unease stole over Jaina. After Stormwind, the blood elves and Tandred's bursting in, she felt as if this day had brought enough tension to last a month. What more could come at them?

But she squared her jaw and looked at Tandred. He would not like this, but it could not be helped.

"It is a signal," she said as calmly as she could, "between Go'el and me when we need to confer immediately."

Everything relaxed flared away from Tandred's eyes, but she met his gaze and finally he was the one who glanced away.

"I still don't like it, but I would not try to stop you from meeting with your husband," he muttered.

She stood up and as she walked closer he too got to his feet, although with a wary look on his face. That expression twisted between pain and uncertainty, as well as something softer, when Jaina gave him a quick, second hug. It was unusual of them to show sibling affection so much, but this was an unusual situation.

"I don't expect you to fully accept it just like that," she said as she pulled back and looked at him. "But the fact that you don't fully condemn it anymore means more to me than I can say."

He opened his mouth, closed it again and finally tried to smile. It didn't work out too well, but at least he tried.

"Very well then," he said. "I'll meet with my troops down there and do my best to duck that Stormwind emissary."

She returned the smile, hers wider than his, and then stepped back. Holding the rune tightly she tapped its power into her teleportation spell, letting it draw her to its twin. It was far easier than the first time she had used Thrall's rune as a beacon.

She flashed out of existence and reappeared to find herself standing before him, in his chambers. The dark look on his face did not grant the sinking feeling in her gut any favors.

"What is it?" she asked.

"There's been another battle in Warsong Gulch," he said, voice deep in his throat as he motioned at somebody behind Jaina. "I'm afraid my side initiated it, too."

Jaina sharply turned, finding a young male orc standing there, between two grim Kor'kron Elites, his face set tight and hands clenched. He wore simple leather armor, looking more like a scout than a warrior.

"Not so, honored Warchief," he said, "as p-per your orders we stayed in our camp, but we had to gather fresh water at some point, and that group ran into a group of Sentinels. There was an argument and– I can't say who started that– b-but one of our men threw the, the first punch–"

Jaina didn't need to look up at Thrall to know the way his expression soured, it was enough to just hear the messenger's stammering and broken sentences.

"It was just a skirmish, nobody lost their life," the young orc quickly finished.

_Small mercies,_ Jaina thought. It was a relief to hear that, but the damage was still done. She didn't speak, as she could think of nothing to say. This was once again Thrall's territory, but she understood why he had called her there to hear these news in person. They would have to reason about this, and he needed to contact the night elves.

"Return and tell your superiors that they're to make no move," he said.

There was a growl in his voice, but one had to admire his restraint. All of them could see the anger in his blue eyes, yet he refused to shout at a scout who bore no blame. The young orc still gulped loudly as he nodded and saluted.

"Very well, you can go," Thrall said and waved his hand.

The scout and the Elites saluted, and then left. The door had just closed before Thrall reacted.

"I _told_ them…!" He let out a loud growl, baring his teeth for a moment. When Jaina instinctively drew back he settled, however, and offered his hand. He quickly spoke, shaking his head. "Pardon if I seem brutish, but it makes me furious. They just won't listen."

She shook her head, regretting her recoil.

"Think nothing of it. I understand your anger," she said and laid her hand in his, drawing close again.

He hummed, gratefully touching her shoulder. They remained like that for a moment, allowing themselves a brief respite from the world. After a few seconds though, Thrall drew in a breath and took a step towards his writing table, still holding her hand.

"I must write Lady Tyrande and apologize at once, whatever good that may do," he said, looking at her. "Perhaps if you add some words as well."

"Of course."

They both took a seat by his writing table. Thrall pulled up an empty sheet of paper and wet the pen in the inkwell, then paused and rubbed his scalp.

"What is it?" Jaina asked, her own frown returning.

He looked up and shook his head.

"I see I will have to take drastic measures to stop this," he said. "But the Warsong clan will not take such disrespect to their honor lightly."

Jaina squared her jaw. She might not have an intricate understanding of orcish politics, but he had just expressed a real fear. Now, more than ever, he needed all his people's support. A stitch of guilt bit into her – he had been the one unsure about their marriage. If not for this new state of things, this skirmish would have been an everyday annoyance and not an inflammatory act of defying orders. It may have been just a skirmish, but the Warsong orcs had gone against a direct command of the Warchief.

Perhaps those involved in that fight in the Gulch realized their mistake, and maybe they regretted it. Maybe they didn't. In the end, it didn't matter – the deed was done, and their defiance set a dangerous example. The next step was Thrall's to take, and he would be judged by it.

She tried to shake herself out of the dark thoughts, but it was not easy.

"What will you do?" she asked.

His lips twisted into a wry half-smile.

"Call Garrosh to scream at them and try to drag them away from there," he said, then glanced down at the paper when she stared at him. "Although I'm not sure if I should let the night elves know that Grom's son might pay their lands a visit. It does not sound politically correct."

Despite everything, Jaina felt her lips twitch at his grim humor in the middle of everything. Reaching forwards, she touched his hand and he looked up.

"That sounds as if you want the Warsong clan to be mad at him and not you," she pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

He blinked, and then chuckled dryly.

"It was actually not my intention, but that's a more pleasant idea," he said. "He should not care, for as long as he remains in Nagrand."

"I much prefer that to you taking the whole blame."

For a second he just looked at her, then his smile softened. It changed his expression utterly, from the all-consuming scowl to a look that stilled Jaina's whirling thoughts.

"You needn't worry about me," he said, tilting his head slightly.

"Of course I do," Jaina replied. She didn't even have to think about the words before she spoke. "You are my husband."

"True…"

He spoke it slowly. His hand turned over, one large, green fingertip brushing against her palm. Instinctively Jaina lowered her hand into his grip, reassuringly – as if he would need that. But, strong as she knew he was – everyone knew he was – that was really no reason to deny him a bit of reassurance for a change. Not when it came down to it. She certainly hungered for a bit of such herself, in her darkest moments – and Thrall was just as mortal as she.

The look in his eye told her that she was right.

It lasted for only a moment. Too soon his expression melted back to the businesslike look, and he wet the pen again. They worked over the letter for a little while, discussing what could be done. Soon enough Jaina found that Thrall had a rather audacious idea about how to put the fighting on hold, and she had to chuckle at his gall. Still, she easily admitted that it could work.

After reading through the letter for the last time and signing her name beside his, she nodded and gave it back to him so that he could seal it.

"Funny how I get even more involved in orc politics, as Tandred said," she muttered, thinking aloud more than anything.

The letter almost fell out of Thrall's grip.

"Pardon?" he said, giving her a sharp look.

"Ah yes." Jaina rubbed her forehead somewhat sheepishly. "I'm sorry. It slipped my mind. Luckily, it's not as worrisome news as I feared it might be."

In silence he listened to her brief account of her brother's arrival and eventual, grudging… if not acceptance, then at least lack of furious rejection.

"What is this, did everyone conspire to act on the same day?" Thrall finally said with a tired, joyless smile.

"I'm starting to wonder about that myself," Jaina said with a similar expression, pursing her mouth as she frowned at the table. "Let us hope that this is the end of it at least for a while."

But even as she said so, she knew that they would not be given much respite. Even so, all the leaders of their main allies had reacted by now – even Sylvanas, although Thrall had summarized her reaction as "she said she was amused."

Sylvanas…

Jaina's thoughts made a jump past the undead queen onto somebody else, and she winced. Looking up, she caught the slight, concerned scowl on Thrall's face, and she shook her head as he opened his mouth.

"It is nothing new," she said.

He watched her for a moment, but then let it rest.

Even though she assured him it wasn't anything great, Jaina could not dispel the cold premonition. There was somebody else, beside Kael'thas, who might speak up in a similar way as he had.

The logical question, "why would he even care?" did nothing to calm her, for nobody knew what Prince Arthas thought of these days.

* * *


	10. Making preparations

A cool, soothing wind rustled the boughs and bushes throughout Darnassus. In the eternal night, tall shadows moved along the paved paths of the city, their long ears swaying with every strong step. Wisps and softly glowing insects fluttered through the air and brought flits of light where the lampposts did not provide any, but most of the inhabitants did not need the extra sources of illumination to see through the dusk.

The wind caused the elegant vines dangling around the windows of the High Priestess' chambers to brush against the smooth wall in a familiar whisper, but the woman inside was deaf to the calming sounds.

Tyrande Whisperwind read the letter before her with a frown creasing her normally serene brow. Well, less than ten years ago serenity had been the norm. Nowadays she frowned a lot more often than she would prefer.

The line only grew deeper as she looked up, hearing familiar, hard footsteps from the corridor outside of her chamber. Within a few moments, a sentinel politely knocked on the door and announced that the Archdruid wished to see the High Priestess.

Fandral marched inside as soon as the sentinel moved to let him pass, speaking only a quick greeting while the door closed behind him. His golden eyes all but blazed with anger. It was not an unusual sight, but the scowl was worse than normal.

"I have just received word from the Silverwing Sentinels–"

"Another battle, I know," Tyrande calmly cut him off, raising the letter. "The Warchief sent urgent word through Lady Proudmoore just now."

It gave him some pause, but he quickly caught himself and folded his arms, unwilling to let this go that easily. She had not expected him to, and, in all honesty, fully understood him for once.

"That is quite convenient, I must say," he said, glaring at the paper in her hand.

Tyrande sighed. Again she had to agree, but only to a point.

"I firmly believe he wrote this just as soon as he found out about what happened," she said. She could only be relieved that the letter had reached her before the Sentinel messenger found Fandral.

Had she heard this tale from the new Archdruid, in his rage, she knew she would have been hard pressed to still trust in Thrall and Jaina both. But she wanted to believe that something good could come from this new situation the two of them had forged, that it could lead to an end of the bloodshed. So far, the discussions about Ashenvale had not erupted into arguments. They might never get a better chance at peace, and she dreaded losing faith.

However, she had not heard it from Fandral first. And there was a portion of the letter that let her hope remain alive, no matter what the new Archdruid or anybody else might have to say about the recent skirmish.

She didn't comment on the fact that the Sentinel messenger should have reported directly to her, first. That was a troubling headache she would have to look into when the Archdruid left.

"Even so," Fandral began, folding his arms across his bare chest, "this only proves what I've been trying to tell you. This is a mere stunt by the orcs, and we should worry about Lady Proudmoore being seduced into it. Theramore is an important city to us as well."

"I understand your concern," Tyrande calmly replied. She would have smiled, but kept her voice and face carefully neutral. "There is something here, however, that might soothe those worries, even in your soul."

If he caught the mild jab, he did not show it. He merely scowled in the same way, watching her with a silent question as she raised the letter and read Thrall's words aloud.

"Hear me out. 'In light of these issues, I suggest that we both call our troops back from Warsong Gulch, and leave it to the Cenarion Circle to safeguard, to ensure peace and that nobody tries to take advantage of the situation.'" She gingerly lowered the letter and studied Fandral's frozen expression. "I find this suggestion agreeable. Does the Circle have the troops to spare?"

Fandral managed to swallow his first disbelief and launched into just what she had expected of him.

"That is an outrage!" he snapped, pointing at the letter. "That area has belonged to our people since long before, I imagine, the orcs even knew how to make fire. We have no reason to withdraw."

"You must understand his position as well, Fandral," Tyrande said, sharper than before. She waved the paper at him. "The Warchief is a politician as much as you and I, and he neither could, nor would do as he pleases with his people. As I understand it, he half expects the Warsong orcs to rebel if he simply has them dragged away."

"How is that our concern?" Fandral demanded.

"It is our concern because then they would do as they please in our forests, and both the Warchief and we would have to waste resources chasing after them. If we withdraw the Sentinels, and let the Cenarion Circle take control of the area, then the orcs may grumble but at least see that the gulch is neutral territory."

In the pause, she could tell that he tried to think of some more reason why this was unacceptable. But, like her, in the end he had to be surprised – and in a positive way. Although he would rather die than admit that, of course. Had it been his idea, on the other hand…

Finally, Fandral pursed his mouth and nodded.

"Very well. If he can make the orcs leave, I will see to it that the Circle sends druids there at once," he said. His eyebrows lowered. "Though as I understand, getting them to leave might not be so easy even for the great Warchief. They did not obey his orders not to fight."

"He says that he will have it done," Tyrande said, but neglected to reveal the name mentioned in the letter. No reason to give Fandral even more verbal arrows for his quiver by letting him know whose son the Warchief intended to summon in order to deal with the Warsong clan.

She set the letter down on her desk and gave Fandral another calm look.

"In light of this gracious offer by the Warchief," she said, "I believe it would be only polite of us to lower our demands of the Horde withdrawal from Ashenvale. At least for the time being."

Fandral was not one to sputter. If he had been, he would have done so for a very long time. As it was, however, he merely blinked, eyes narrowing to two golden threads of light.

"I fear," he finally said after a moment, voice forcibly controlled, "that the orcs will see that as a sign of weakness and fall over it like a pack of hungry sabers."

"It is a possibility," Tyrande conceded, then turned her head to gaze out the window. "I will not bring it up until we have seen the orcs withdraw from the Gulch. You have to agree that the Warchief is making a grand effort to show his good will."

"If it is heartfelt."

"I believe so, and I thank Elune that the Warchief is willing to discuss this in the first place."

Her tone had a note of finality to it which could not be ignored. After a polite bow and wish for good rest, Fandral left. Once again alone, Tyrande allowed herself a relieved sigh and slumped back in a chair. Only for a short while, though. Soon, she was back up and preparing to inform her people of this new twist. She had to make it all known – the clash in the Gulch, as well as the offer – before rumors spread and inflamed the already disbelieving citizens of the new world tree.

* * *

The morning contained one of the most painful discussions in Tandred's life, and that included his and Jaina's long talk the day before. Even though he had promised her to try to avoid Sir Arthur Dunhave, he knew full well that it would be seen as an outrage if he did not address Stormwind about this whole matter. And so, he gritted his teeth and called upon the emissary himself.

Dunhave came to see the Admiral in the guest chamber Jaina had ordered prepared for her brother. Two soldiers of his escort flanked him, and two Kul Tiras soldiers waited together with Tandred. It was one of those discussions that should not be kept behind locked doors without witnesses.

"I would prefer to not waste time with diplomatic small talk," Tandred said in an even voice as both sides faced each other, standing in the middle of the room just a few steps apart. Tandred had pondered long and hard how to express himself, but he still expected some blows he would not be prepared for. All he could do was try to remain calm. "We are in a strange situation."

Dunhave slowly nodded understanding.

"Indeed, and I'm afraid that I was not quite expecting to meet with you, Lord Admiral, when I was sent here," he said. "I will do my best to represent Stormwind, despite this fact."

"Yes, I understand that, and if there is something we cannot discuss properly, we will save that for a later time. Now…" Tandred cleared his throat. "I will ask frankly, what is Stormwind's opinion of all this?"

It took no longer than a moment for Dunhave to formulate his answer, and when he spoke he allowed a hint of concern to show through in his voice and expression. Tandred clenched his jaw further.

"In all honesty, we suspect some kind of trickery," the emissary said. "I assure you, my superiors and I find your sister's will to avoid another war with the orcs commendable, and I told her as much when I met with her."

Tandred wished he could have seen a hint of mockery in the words, but he could not. It was the compliance to sacrifice herself for the sake of peace that they commended. He too had thought her a human offering, and then she told him that she willingly let the Warchief embrace her…

He had not been sleeping well.

"Marrying for peace is certainly not unheard of," Dunhave continued, "but you must understand, Admiral, it is difficult to believe that Lady Proudmoore would agree to this arrangement willingly."

There was an unspoken question there. Tandred had known it would come, and weighed his options carefully.

"I thought as much too, when I came here yesterday," he admitted. "My sister assured me that it had been a decision based on mutual agreement, however."

"I certainly do not accuse Lady Proudmoore of lying to anybody," Dunhave slowly said, "but does anybody except for her and the orcish Warchief know how that agreement came to take place? What arguments were used?"

He didn't know. Light, he didn't know. Jaina had looked at him so calmly and spoken well to soothe his fears about her being forced, but what had she actually said about the Warchief's words on the matter? No, she had said that _she_ made the proposal in the first place – but she had not told him what had driven her to it. What had she been told, what had she been asked to consider before she made the suggestion of marriage? He couldn't keep his imagination from painting a picture of her standing in the huge shadow of the Warchief, staring up with that tight, forcefully blank face.

"That, I do not know," he admitted, shaking his head.

"Admiral," Dunhave said, taking in a deep breath. "We have all heard the story of King Bronzebeard's daughter, and her enchanted love for the Dark Iron Emperor. Do you not find it strange that King Bronzebeard would not suspect that the same has befallen Lady Proudmoore? But instead, he has decided to remain neutral in the matter."

In this case however, Tandred held more faith.

"I do not know the exact nature of the spell Princess Moira is under," he said, "but I have been told that reports say she acted a lot more violently and spoke with more fervor than she was known to before. As far as I know, spells that control another person can never work without altering the victim's character. I saw no sign of such things when I spoke with my sister at length yesterday."

"Ah, that is a relief, then. We can perhaps cease to worry about that kind of persuasion."

That kind.

"I was told that you met with the Warchief yesterday, here in Theramore," Tandred said. It was not his intention to change the subject. He simply desperately needed to know more about the whole situation, to gain certainty. "I have not met him personally. What is your opinion of him?"

At these words, Dunhave actually winced. Within a second, however, he had schooled his face back into the calm, slightly concerned mask.

"Surprisingly eloquent, I admit," he said. "I could not make a complaint about the way that he presented himself, though it came as a shock to see him here. Since I was not told he would be here, of course."

"Of course," Tandred echoed.

"I must ask you, Admiral, for the sake of the Alliance, what is Kul Tiras' stance in all this?"

The direct question was spoken with no more urgency than anything that had come before, and still it took Tandred by surprise. He had expected a lot more wrangling before such a direct statement was asked for. For a moment he wished that he could have allowed himself to nervously wet his lips, but he could not afford such a show of weakness.

"It's a difficult situation for me personally," he carefully answered, "and by that stretch, for Kul Tiras as a whole."

"Of course, Admiral," Dunhave said, with a hint of sympathy that could very well be heartfelt. "Anybody would understand that." He paused and pursed his lips. "If I may be so bold, my Lord, judging by your questioning me about my thoughts on the orcish Warchief… do you intend to meet with him?"

Tandred could feel even his own guards stare at him from the shadows of their helmets. Cold sweat stung his neck, but he kept his face as calm as he could.

"It is not something I would gladly do," he said, shaking his head mostly to steady himself. "However, considering the political circumstances, I will eventually have to deal with that. As for Kul Tiras' stance on what has occurred," he continued, speaking with a firmer tone, "I must discuss the matter with my advisors."

Dunhave had opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when Tandred went on. Now, he slowly nodded, his face unreadable.

"I commend your bravery, Admiral," he said in a neutral tone. "Whatever happens, Stormwind will surely be willing to give you aid should you ask for it."

With those words, the political correctness didn't exactly shatter, but a very distinct crack appeared in it. Oh yes, Stormwind would definitely be willing to aid in the liberation of Theramore.

"I thank you graciously for your offer and your time, emissary," Tandred said, without a single twitch of his face showing either support or denouncement.

In all honesty, he didn't know whether to welcome the offer for help or toss it aside.

When the men of Stormwind had left, and Tandred's own guards had silently retreated to their own quarters as well, the Lord Admiral went to see his sister. As he was let into her chambers, she stood up from her desk, one hand still resting on a heap of reports she had been reading from. Tandred met her questioning gaze and spoke, swallowing the dread he felt but couldn't admit, not even to her.

"I don't know enough about all this, Jaina."

A short while later, Emissary Southstone stepped through a portal to Orgrimmar.

* * *

After the intense day with the arrival of the Stormwind emissary, the meeting with Lord Lor'themar, the news of the skirmish in Warsong Gulch, and Jaina's report about her brother's sudden appearance, the following day, at first, seemed pretty dull in compare. Thrall found this to be a great relief, and accepted the breather with silent eagerness – though he kept expecting something to happen, and thus could never completely relax.

There was the reply from Tyrande, announcing that she accepted his suggestion and would arrange to have the Sentinels move out of the Gulch at the same time as the Warsong orcs. That too was a relief, but he still had to worry about actually making them leave. He held no false ideas about them grumbling but finally accepting the order – they _might_ go if he commanded it, but with seething minds. But they might just as well flat out refuse, and that would be worse than anything else. Hence his message sent to Garrosh. Faced with both orders from the Warchief and him who was technically their chieftain, the bitter taste should be easier to bear for the Warsong orcs.

Of course, Thrall doubted that Garrosh would be very fond of the idea, either. So far, he had heard nothing from the young Hellscream. He could only wait.

The day was teetering towards noon when the message from Jaina arrived.

Following a report delivered by a troll outrunner, a Kor'kron Elite stepped up towards the throne, stopping in front of the stairs leading up to it. The warrior's heavy war glaive clanged against his chest armor as he saluted.

"Emissary Southstone of Theramore wishes to deliver a message from your mate, Warchief," he said.

Thrall nodded, squaring his jaw. Jaina had told him, just this morning, that she would send an official message if she was successful in what they had discussed last night.

"One moment," Thrall said. He turned his head and nodded to Vol'jin, who raised his fleshy eyebrows as their gazes met. However, the old troll understood the signal and walked up closer to the throne.

At Thrall's signal, another orc crossed the floor and walked past the waiting Elite, to join Vol'jin on the Warchief's other side. Highlord Saurfang exchanged glances with Vol'jin, his face un-obscured as he had taken off his helmet.

"Very well, let him in," Thrall said.

The Elite saluted again and crossed the floor of the throne room with fair ease. Orcs and trolls were still working at arranging torches and decorating the walls for the celebration, but at least things had calmed down since the first couple of days after the wedding. It was not so crowded as it had been, even if more messengers than usual scurried about to the shamans and other advisors. Now, however, it all stilled as interest piqued about just what this official business might be about.

"What now, Warchief?" Saurfang muttered from the toothy corner of his mouth.

"There's something Jaina and I have discussed that should be spoken of openly," Thrall muttered back. "I will appreciate advice from both of you."

He watched as the emissary left his small escort behind in the first room, and walked across the floor just behind the Elite.

Vol'jin said nothing, but Thrall suspected the old witch doctor still was not sure what to think of the paladin turned emissary. It was, after all, a Darkspear troll who had turned the human's worldview around – and, in the end, had to pay for some irresponsible choices.

"Emissary Southstone, Warchief," the Elite rumbled. He saluted, and stepped aside.

Likewise, Thomas saluted by touching a fist to his chest instead of a stretched hand to his forehead.

"Honored Warchief," he said in Orcish. His accent was grating, but it showed that he honestly tried.

"Greetings, emissary," Thrall replied, then switched to Common. "What is it that you wish to tell us?"

Thomas lowered his hand, face kept under control. The only sign of his feelings were his tight lips. Standing alone before the orcish Warchief had to be bad enough for a man born and raised in Stormwind, but with the heavily armored Saurfang and a coldly glaring Vol'jin also standing there, one had to give Thomas credit for not tossing his gaze around nervously.

"I bear words from your mate, Warchief," he said, using the orcish term as easy as "wife," which should have come more naturally to him. "Yesterday, her brother, Lord Admiral Tandred Proudmoore arrived in Theramore–" he ignored the murmurs this caused. "– without any ill intent."

Most murmurs turned to scoffs. Both Vol'jin and Saurfang squared their jaws.

"On your mate's suggestion, Warchief, should you find it agreeable, the Lord Admiral has agreed to pay you a formal visit here in Orgrimmar," Thomas continued, and he must have practiced saying that a few times judging by his neutral face.

The scoffs were nothing to the momentary hush. It did not, however, last very long before the disbelieving growls started.

"I see," Thrall said, raising his hand as he sharply spoke. A tense silence settled over the room as he looked at the troll and orc at his sides, changing back to Orcish. "What is your opinion about this?"

"What is the purpose?" Saurfang wondered, looking torn between disbelief and confusion. "A show of good will from the Admiral?"

"If so, he be havin' some gall ta make such an offer while Tiragarde Keep still stands," Vol'jin said. He scowled, adding in a lower voice, "Especially with what we know about dat fleet now."

Thrall grimly nodded. What Vol'jin spoke of was another grave matter he would have to bring up with Jaina, and if possible with her brother as well. But the situation between Durotar and Kul Tiras was brittle to use a generous term, and it would have to wait – at least until Tandred Proudmoore at least had been somewhat convinced that his sister hadn't been forced or enchanted to wed the leader of the Horde.

"Jaina and I both wish to eliminate all the old threats of war," Thrall said. "She has spoken to her brother about this in hopes that it would be another step forward."

The Darkspear's thick lips curled around one of his long, decorated tusks. It was not quite a sneer, more of a silent sigh. He could tell that the Warchief had his idea set about this, even if he did invite to discussion.

As far as Thrall could tell, Vol'jin still had not made peace with what he thought of the recent events.

"We could always summon Rexxar to take your place again, Warchief," Vol'jin dryly said. "Dat very possibly saved your life back den." He raised a gnarled, three-fingered hand and shook his head when Saurfang opened his mouth, still watching Thrall. "But, I admit, it ain't like dat time. Da old Admiral tried ta lure you outside."

"My thoughts exactly," Saurfang agreed. He rubbed his chin, armored glove clanking lightly as his fingers collided against each other. "How have the Admiral and your mate reasoned he will arrive here, however? With his own soldiers as guards?"

"Jaina said that she would accompany him, and bring a few of her Elite Guards as escort," Thrall said. "There are a few Kul Tiras soldiers in Theramore now, but she would not let them come with her and the Admiral."

Vol'jin let out a snort, and actually half smirked.

"So he be agreein' to walk into an enemy city with only his sister and her soldiers, who already stood by and let da last Admiral die." Thrall kept his face impassive, and just watched the leader of the Darkspears as the troll continued. "If he's got foul tricks planned, he must be suicidal."

"The spirits give me no warning," Thrall mildly said.

"No, Warchief," Vol'jin said, straightening slightly and looking Thrall in the eyes. "I don't like humans, and I don't trust dem, but I don't think you a fool."

"I appreciate that, friend."

A smile tugged at the Warchief's lips, answered by a wry one on Vol'jin's as he nodded. The troll was not ecstatic about this twist, but left the choice to the spirits, as Thrall himself largely did. They would know if this really was a trap.

"And what is your opinion?" Thrall asked, turning to Saurfang.

The much older orc looked between the Warchief, Vol'jin and the impassive, waiting Thomas, then back to Thrall. Finally, his lips stretched just the slightest bit and he touched an armored fist to his chest.

"I will have our most reliable soldiers ensure your mate and her brother's safety, Warchief."

"Very well, I am counting on you," Thrall said, and though he didn't show it he allowed himself to relish the relief of his advisors' support. Lately, there had been outrageous and seemingly sudden decisions racking up at an alarming rate, and he could not avoid wondering when somebody would step up and question his sanity.

Still he only gave Saurfang a faint smile in return, then turned back to the emissary. Thomas must have understood part of the discussion if not all. The hint of relief in his eyes said as much, although he managed to keep his face mostly neutral.

"My advisors and I accept the Lord Admiral's offer," Thrall said, returning to Common again. "He is welcome in Orgrimmar, together with my mate. I would suggest the meeting take place as soon as possible, perhaps tomorrow morning."

"I will bring your message to Lady Proudmoore and the Lord Admiral at once, honored Warchief," Thomas replied, saluting again before he took a couple of step backwards and then turned around to walk out, accompanied by the Kor'kron Elite that had brought him in.

Vol'jin returned to the discussion he had been called from, and Saurfang left to make the required preparations. If it could be prepared well enough. The danger was apparent – this would be Jaina's first official, announced visit to Orgrimmar, and to add up her brother would be with her. The orcs still remembered the last Lord Admiral clearly, and Tiragarde Keep in the south never gave them a chance to forget.

A strange feeling settled over the throne room, a mix of disbelief, curiosity and tension. What did this mean?

Thrall himself wasn't sure if he could completely tell what it meant. Tandred Proudmoore's decision meant far more than just a show of good will. It sent a signal not only to the Horde, but to the Alliance as well – in a way, it was even more scandalous than Theramore's alliance through marriage. The people of Theramore had made friends with the orcs before. The title "Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras," however, stood for an invasion that had taken place far too few years ago.

Thrall murmured a prayer to the spirits, and they whispered back in soothing voices. That eased his mind somewhat. Surely there would be some that would want to disrupt the event, but that was Saurfang's responsibility to prevent and Thrall knew well the Highlord's ability to plan ahead and act accordingly.

Still, the visit would cause reactions that went far beyond the actual meeting. Jaina and especially her brother did not simply take a risk with their personal security, in this. Their allies – and their enemies – would have a lot to say about this gesture.


	11. Reaching Across

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cameo by the troll rogue Nok'kai, who belongs to the ever awesome T.mirai :3

The morning sun reflected sharply on armors adorned with golden anchors. Helmets covered the men and women's faces almost completely, something they all surely felt relived about. The tension was palpable, but they stood in a neat row on the open area outside of the Theramore citadel, straight and silent. Five Elite Guards, and their commander at the front. All saluted as Jaina and Tandred walked out of the gates of the citadel, followed by emissary Southstone. Five more Elites escorted them.

Tandred looked pale, jaw clenched tightly, but he would not voice his unease. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, Jaina's heart ached for him – and even so, she was impressed and swelled with pride for her brother. He could have recoiled and backed out, but he never did. She knew he was far more scared than he let on, and doubted that he had slept right.

Her own eyes felt rather dry from her restless slumber. All through the night she had been shifting in Thrall's arms, and his sleep had been fitful as well. It could not have been only because she kept moving around. So much could go wrong this morning.

The news had spread quickly, of course, and it had drawn quite a crowd, watching from afar. No cheers, no boos, but a low, curious and disbelieving murmur.

Are they really going? Does the Lord Admiral dare to? Will they come back?

Jaina tried to ignore it. As she stopped walking, so did Tandred and the emissary. The Elite escort joined those who already waited, all watching her from the shadows of their helmets.

"Remember not to be alarmed," Jaina said, hoping her smile was encouraging. They probably needed it almost as much as Tandred did. "The Warchief has prepared for his own personal guard to ensure our safety, and we will not be walking very far." It was things she had already said when this escort was picked out from the Elite Guard, but it didn't hurt to repeat it. "Is everybody ready?"

The soldiers saluted, causing a reverberating jangle of metal.

"Yes, Lady Proudmoore!"

Admirably, there was no hint of anxiety in their voices. Nodding, Jaina raised her hands, focusing her mind on the spot in Orgrimmar she and Thrall had agreed on. She heard Tandred suck in his breath, a faint hiss. Then, Theramore flashed out of existence. Paved streets and stone buildings were replaced with warmly orange cliff walls and rough, six-sided buildings made of wood and clay. In front of them rose the huge Grommash Hold, spiky, rough, and with the gate open, waiting for them.

And all around were Horde.

Armor clattered as several of the Elite Guards shifted uneasily, and Tandred breathed in sharply. Even Jaina could not help but feel taken aback.

It should not have felt like a shock, because she had expected there to be a crowd. Yet she had not seen so many people of the Horde so closely, not since the Third War – and then, they had seldom been focused on her. The streets all around were lined with orcs, trolls – the males with their backs straightened to see better – as well as hulking tauren, silent blood elves, and Forsaken, staring coldly with glowing yellow eyes. The stench of the latter ones did not do the atmosphere any favors.

Kor'kron Elites formed a large circle around the area where the human visitors had arrived, but despite their imposing armor, one had to wonder if they could hold the crowd back should something happen. A murmur hung in the air, rising in the same instant as the magic around the humans faded.

Some looked curious, others disbelieving. However, many glared, right at Jaina and Tandred. Jaina forced herself not to glance around too much even though she could practically smell the just barely controlled suspicion. They didn't trust soldiers, and especially not the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, to meet peacefully with their Warchief.

Then armor clanged again, but not from the nervous Elite Guards. A huge orc walked from the stairs leading up to the Hold's gate, his gear making the Kor'krons' pale in compare. The murmur changed, still hesitant but with respect easing up the tension. Even though he did not carry any weapon, Overlord Saurfang's mere presence demanded awe, second only to Thrall himself.

Unlike her brother and the Guards, Jaina found herself relaxing when Saurfang walked forwards to meet her and the others. As frightening as he looked, she knew well the trust between him and Thrall and she could draw reassurance from that herself.

Unbeknownst to almost everyone down on the ground, somebody moved high above on the tall sandstone cliffs. There was a scrape of feet, but only the sharpest of eyes would have caught any movement since magic cloaked the orc in question. Dark, hateful eyes narrowed at the group of humans and he crouched down. Hands hidden within his cloak glowed with dark magic, building up as his focus zeroed in on the woman in white and the man standing beside her.

The orc warlock didn't care one bit that he would be discovered the second he let lose his spell. By then it would be too late, and the Burning Blade would have their revenge. It was quite an honor, really, to have been picked to deliver the blow.

That little human whore first. It was quite nice, though, of her and the Warchief to so foolishly place her out in the open like this. They hadn't gone to war three years ago, but the death of both Proudmoores would leave no more room for peace. Better yet, with the whole world's eyes turned towards the union of the Warchief and Proudmoore it would create an even greater uproar.

The warlock shifted to aim better, thick lips moving rapidly to finish the spell.

A hand grabbed the back of his cloak and yanked hard, sending him off balance and rolling back. The cloaking spell as well as the glow on his hands shattered and he snarled in fury, casting his gaze around wildly.

The air shifted and a troll wearing dark leather armor seemingly melted out of the shadow of the cliff. From beneath the shade of his helmet, a pair of deep green eyes encircled by dark tattoos stared icily at the orc.

"Ah-ah-ah, mon," the troll said. "No bleedin' on da Warchief's parade."

The warlock snarled and flung out his hand, but the rogue swiftly ducked the bolt of sizzling darkness. The magic flared off into the sky, and the warlock never got a chance for another strike. Metal flashed, and a heavy body hit the hard ground. Grimly, the troll grabbed the dying orc's thrashing arms and held him down until he stopped moving.

The troll straightened and looked upwards, at another plateau in the cliff. From there, an orc in dark armor gave him a thumbs up. They exchanged grins and the rogue melted back into the shadows to resume his vigilant watch of the ensuing proceedings.

Down on the road, the followers of the Burning Blade kept waiting for results. But they would have to realize, yet again, that the Warchief was not so foolish as they had hoped. Emissary Southstone's fist touched his chest as he gazed up at Overlord Saurfang, greeting him in Orcish.

Jaina dared a glance at Tandred, and had to suppress a chuckle at the look on his face. Although he managed to wrestle his expression back under control quickly, the Admiral still watched the man who spoke the rough language as if Thomas were a ghost. To Jaina, who had heard a good deal of Orcish in her day, it was apparent that the words were simple – actually, one word of greeting and then a title and name – and Thomas' pronunciation far from perfect. Her brother, however, did not know this.

"Throm-Ka," Saurfang replied. He looked at Jaina and saluted, obviously struggling not to grin too much behind his helmet. "Aka'Magosh, mate of the Warchief." His Common sounded rough, but not so much that it was difficult to understand.

"Greetings," Jaina replied. "I am glad to see you again, Overlord." She didn't glance at Tandred, hoping that his sense of intimidation was not rising as much as she suspected.

"As am I, Lady Proudmoore." He turned to Tandred, who stood still as a statue. "Lord Admiral." Saurfang didn't salute, but he did nod his head politely before looking at Jaina gain. "I will escort all of you to the Warchief."

Saurfang turned, knocking a fist to his chest lightly. The clank was still loud, and hung in the air as the humans moved to follow him towards the Hold's stairs. Nobody cheered, but nobody threw anything either – not far, at least. Jaina's senses were at high alert, and she knew that Saurfang and everyone else's were too. One stone, one egg, any small little thing soaring through the air might be all that it would take.

Yet the worst tension began to ease as they got closer to the Hold, and the crowd remained icy but calm. The Elites moved as well, closing in on the humans protectively.

Suddenly hearing Thomas chuckle softly, almost inaudibly, Jaina glanced around. She saw him looking between the bulks of the Elites, and nod as if in greeting. Still walking, she caught sight of a grinning, male troll with green hair, standing by the side of the road and watching amongst so many others. Behind him stood three large raptors, seemingly at ease with wearing the reins he held in a three-fingered hand. She glanced back at Thomas, and her lips twitched slightly.

Somehow, that helped ease her tension even more.

They entered Grommash Hold without incident, something that caused relief within all of the involved. The warm, dry smell of hot sand, and the more unpleasant stench of the Forsaken, eased up inside of the Hold. Instead, a thicker smell of furs and smoke filled the visitors' nostrils. After the blazing sunlight outside, the inside world at first appeared cast in shadow. The many torches and burning embers in huge braziers helped the eyes adjust, however.

Jaina looked at Tandred as they passed through the first, smaller hall, and saw him staring ahead stiffly. Beyond the open gate was the main, circular hall of the Hold, and the huge throne, as well as the orc sitting upon it, was clearly visible. She wished she could have touched his shoulder and given it a calming squeeze, but she would not – it would only be a sign that he needed support, and that was not something he would want to make apparent.

The Kor'kron Elites spread out, leaving the floor open for Saurfang and the humans. Jaina spotted Vol'jin, standing in the background and watching with a thoughtful look. He met her gaze only briefly. There were many others in the hall, most of them orcs. Representatives from all the other Horde races were present, however, although Jaina only recognized the blood elf ambassador Dawnsinger by name. The elf stood by the wall, watching silently like all the others.

As the guests entered, Thrall rose from the throne. Glancing at Tandred again, Jaina guessed that the clanging of Doomhammer's armor rung like gongs in her brother's ears. Tandred kept his gaze locked straight ahead, jaw set tight and conflicting emotions warring in his eyes. Saurfang stopped walking, urging the visitors to do the same. Silently, he saluted Thrall and moved to the sidelines, leaving the humans to themselves. Although both human and orcish traditions called for Jaina to stand by her husband's side, she remained by Tandred. She would not take away what silent support she could offer him.

Thomas took a couple of more steps forwards and pressed a fist to his chest once again, bowing his head.

"Honored Warchief," he said. "Presenting the Lord Admiral Tandred Proudmoore, brother of your wife."

With that Thomas stepped aside, and Thrall nodded.

"Welcome to Orgrimmar, Admiral," he said, perfectly calm.

"Thank you, Warchief," Tandred replied. One would be hard pressed to believe he honestly meant that, but his voice sounded admirably neutral.

"I understand that entering our capital puts a lot of pressure on your mind." As satirical as it seemed to state something so obvious, Thrall's tone remained as calm and serious as ever. "But I assure you that I would not allow any harm to come to the brother of my wife."

One could have heard a needle hit the ground in the silence. It was brief, only a second or two, yet it seemed to stretch on forever. Jaina held her breath. She could tell that Tandred struggled for what to say.

Thrall left the verbal floor wide open, waiting like everyone else. If he felt as tense as Jaina did, he did not show it in any way.

Finally, finally Tandred took in a deep breath.

"I believed I would only ever meet you with sword in hand, Warchief." He shook his head, but did not look away. "I… truly do not know what to say."

Strangely, just a few of the present Horde members bristled at that first sentence. At its core though, what Tandred said was simply a conclusion of what everyone had believed.

Thrall slowly nodded.

"I am sure you would have wanted to protect your sister," he said, softly.

Those words could have been a challenge, but they were not. Not the way he said it.

"Yes," Tandred replied. He frowned slightly, seemingly trying to gauge what the Warchief wanted from him. What he himself wanted from this strange meeting. "Although she assures me that she does not require any aid."

Glances flew between the people watching from the sidelines. Tension knotted in the air, even if the tones of the two leaders remained civil. Jaina clenched her teeth. Thrall and Tandred were tiptoeing around the shadow hanging over both of them, and her.

And then Thrall brought the verbal fist right down on it.

"My people have no happy memories of the last time we tangled with Kul Tiras, Admiral, and neither do I," he said.

Jaina's breath stuck in her throat, and she couldn't help but turn her head slightly towards Tandred to see his reaction. His eyes narrowed beneath a deepening frown, but he didn't move or speak otherwise. Instinctively, her gaze fluttered over to the others in the room. Some were exchanging quick whispers, looking between the Warchief and the Lord Admiral. Vol'jin's piercing eyes remained locked on Thrall, she noticed. He seemed to be tensely waiting for something.

"It was a painful business for everyone involved," Thrall continued. He calmly regarded Tandred, who remained silent. "However, that is in the past. You are the brother of my wife, and therefore I would wish to see friendship rather than enmity between us."

Tandred gave Jaina a sharp look from the corner of his eye, one she returned with a careful, slanted smile. She had known, she had even tried to prepare him for it, but from the look on his face he hadn't actually managed to believe her.

"You speak of a treaty, Warchief?" Tandred carefully asked, keeping his voice neutral but obviously unsure what to think.

"A peace treaty is unfortunately, as we are all aware of, probably too much to even discuss for the time being. Considering the circumstances though, a ceasefire would be acceptable to me."

In the silence, the disbelief felt so thick you could have cut it with a knife. It emanated mostly from the Elite Guards, however. Only a few of the Horde spectators actually looked surprised. Thrall must have wisely informed them. Jaina found herself glancing at Vol'jin again. From where she was she couldn't tell for sure, but she thought his lips tightened slightly.

Another eternity seemed to snail by until Tandred finally spoke again.

"I… thank you graciously for your offer, Warchief," he slowly said. "For my sister's sake, I too wish for no aggression between us or our nations. Accepting even an agreement of ceasefire with Durotar would however risk the pacts Kul Tiras already has within the Alliance. I will have to discuss this matter with my advisors before I can answer you."

Thrall nodded.

"A wise course of action. I will await your reply." He paused briefly, but not long enough to speak in between. "That is all I wished to speak with you about for the moment, Admiral. Do you wish to add something?"

"No, Warchief." Tandred still showed little sign of relaxing, despite the fact that the visit was obviously reaching its conclusion. "I thank you for meeting with me."

"And I thank you for offering to meet with me," Thrall replied. For daring to meet with him. "Good day to you, Admiral."

"Good day."

Jaina nodded to Thrall, and he returned the gesture. Still silent, because this was not her meeting, she raised her hands and focused. Just as easily as she had brought Tandred, herself and their escort to Orgrimmar, she returned them to the open area outside of the Theramore citadel.

There were more people outside now, and many of them jumped at the sudden appearance. Wide eyes of soldiers and townsfolk alike took in the sight of everyone returned safe and sound.

Jaina had barely begun lowering her arms when Tandred spoke.

"A word with you, Jaina?"

It didn't really sound like a question. She clenched her jaw, giving him as honest-looking smile as she could muster.

"Of course."

By the same spell, she brought them away from the citadel and the town, inside the chambers he had been accommodated.

She knew what to expect, and therefore she was prepared when he instantly whirled on her.

"Jaina…!"

"Don't be a fool, Tan," she sharply said. "We are talking about peace that has seemed impossible. Don't throw it away without a second thought." He started to speak, but she was louder and for a second they both spoke until he let her finish. "Don't you think I considered all the same implications as you do now, before the marriage?"

"I can't declare cease fire with the Horde just like that!" he said. "It's easier for you because Theramore is here, but we have our mainland in the Eastern Kingdoms. And what would our people say?"

"What have the Eastern Kingdoms done for you, lately?" she demanded. When he jumped as if stung, she added, "I know my own homeland is ailing, Tan."

"You still shouldn't orchestrate something like this. I told you before, Kul Tiras is _my_ responsibility."

She met his scowl with the same.

"I orchestrated nothing," she frostily said. "I only relayed your message. Go'el was the one who asked whether he should make you this offer. When he did, I told him to bring it up with you. You have to agree it's a logical step, since he and I are married."

"Jaina, I-" He took in a deep breath and then heavily slumped down on a chair. "I'm so confused right now. The world isn't making any sense."

The anger in him went out like a candle, as if the oil fueling it had suddenly dried up.

His exhausted tone and heavy shoulders killed off the annoyance in Jaina's heart, for the moment at least. For certain the two of them would clash on this matter again, probably sooner than later, but the hatchet disappeared beneath the earth for now.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" she kindly asked, moving towards the door to call for a servant.

"Yes please, or rather something stronger. Light!"

An evil little voice urged her to call for an orcish beverage – she did suspect that he would actually like many of the orcish alcoholic creations. Most people did, once they got over their suspicion and – after swallowing – their eyes stopped rolling. She controlled that urge, however, as it would be a cruel joke. Perhaps later, though.

* * *

As the sun sunk towards the horizon, Jaina pushed the heap of papers aside. Just a little break before she read and signed a few more…

She stood up from her desk and stretched her stiff muscles, allowing herself a soft groan. Outside, the sky flared with gold and red, with ripples of purple clouds dissolving in the evening winds.

It had been a good day. Anxiety from the morning faded eventually once her pulse went down and she could properly digest that the meeting had actually gone off without a hitch. Although, she would have to ask Thrall if there were any reports about attempts to disturb the peace.

It wasn't something she wanted to think about then. Gazing out at the sunset sky, she leaned her chin on a fist and for a little while let her mind wander.

Thoughts slipped from relief, to gentle pride for Tandred, past all the other things she had had to focus on after returning to Theramore. Politics. She didn't want to think of any of that now. Idly, she brushed her fingertips against the back of her hand.

She thought about Thrall.

The sun stubbornly hung in the sky, moving excruciatingly slowly towards the horizon. In good conscience, she couldn't go to Orgrimmar to be with him until nightfall. He might not be in his chambers yet, either. They both had business to attend to.

Sighing softly, she returned to her chair and the papers.

There were not only everyday reports, but also letters from various people. The leaders of the world's factions were not the only ones reacting to the latest development. Those leaders had aides, advisors, generals, everything around and below. Not to mention what appeared to be throngs of nobles. All of them sending well-wishes with more or less thinly-disguised real thoughts on the matter, be it hope or disgust.

The letters were folded with already written responses, simply waiting to be signed. A couple of scribes checked all letters not directly from factional leaders before Jaina even saw them, to make sure it was really something that deserved any attention from the lady. These days, that pair grumbled between themselves as they massaged their aching fingers, wishing that some clever gnome would invent a machine that could write texts automatically.

Jaina put another letter aside and glanced outside again. The warm colors of the sky were intensifying as the sun sank. Once she'd signed a few more letters, say six, and read two more reports, she could go.

When she lowered her gaze, however, she saw a familiar glow. Her communication rune laid beside the heap of papers, and even as she reached out for it the glow faded and returned. Breath stuck in her throat and her fingers froze above the carved stone. Again the glow died.

And rose for a third time.

Something was wrong. The prospect of meeting with Thrall, which had just been something she had long looked forwards to, now made her steel her mind and clench her jaw. Taking in a steadying breath she touched the rune and focused to find her way to her husband. Bright light flared around her, ripping away the environment itself.

She found herself in his chambers, gazing up at him with a question forming on her mouth already. But he raised his hand in a calming motion while placing his own rune on his writing table. Like her desk, the slab was covered with papers, as well as a few scrolls.

"It's nothing that needs panicking over," he said, then pursed his mouth. "At least, I hope so."

That did nothing to make her worry any less.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm sorry to bring you more concerns so soon, however…" He paused and shook his head, taking a yellowed paper from the table. "Just a few days ago a group of young warriors sneaked into Tiragarde Keep. They found this."

Jaina's frown cut deeply into her forehead as she took the offered letter. It felt a bit oily against her fingertips, obviously well-thumbed already. The seal on top of the page, however, was unmistakable and sent a chilly feeling plummeting through her gut. As she read, her eyebrows twitched and dove, the frown deepening even further.

> _Official Orders For The Kul Tiras Fleet  
>  I, Admiral Proudmoore, shall lead the first landing…_

It went on, the words sounding in her head as if spoken by her father's long lost voice. That was only disturbing, however, until she reached the second half of the document.

"Light!" she hissed, pressing a hand to her lips as she read the declaration that somewhere out there was another part of the Kul Tiras fleet, set to return to Tiragarde and continue the assault on orcish lands at some unknown point.

Lowering the letter, she stared up at Thrall.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" she asked.

"My misplaced sense of chivalry, no doubt." There was little humor in his voice and expression, however. "I received it just two days before the wedding. There were other matters to drive us both up the wall."

"Oh, Go'el."

She couldn't quite decide if it annoyed her or not, but pushed those thoughts aside. The real issue was far more pressing.

"I've never heard anything about this scouting fleet," she said, scowling at the letter in her hand, "and this is very old. They may have been lost at sea. But we have to show this to Tandred."

She didn't even think twice about the "we", and he only nodded.

"Agreed," Thrall said, offering his huge, gauntlet clad hand.

Jaina placed her own hand on the cool metal covering his palm and again focused her mind. It took a little more effort to bring somebody else along with the teleportation spell, but not so much that it was a problem for her. She had, after all, transported several men and women back and forth just that morning.

They reappeared in her chambers in Theramore, and Jaina immediately set off across the floor with Thrall just behind her. She could have used her magic to immediately bring Thrall and herself to Tandred's chambers or at least to appear right outside his door, but she found it impolite to barge in on people like that. Not to mention what the reactions of Tandred, or any guard, servant or other person in the citadel, if the orcish Warchief suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

The guards on the other side of the door blinked and stared as their Lady stepped outside, with a huge orc following her. Thrall had to duck sideways to get through to the corridor outside. His steps rung against the stone floor, and the carpet could only do so much to mitigate his heavy footfalls.

Looking rather dazed, the two men saluted without a word.

It was not a very long walk to the rooms Tandred had been given, but the sight of Thrall caused a few wide eyed stares and gasps along the way. Jaina gave him an apologizing glance the first time it happened, but he merely returned that look with a mild, wry smile.

There were Theramore guards, not Kul Tiras soldiers, standing outside of Tandred's room, thankfully. They stepped back, eyes flicking back and forth, as Jaina told them to. She knocked on the door.

"Tandred?"

"Jaina? Come in," came his reply, muffled through the wood separating them.

"My husband wishes to see you," she said as she opened the door and entered.

Tandred shot to his feet from the armchair he had been sitting in. A book slid from his hands and thudded against the floor, forgotten as he stared at Jaina, then at Thrall as the Warchief ducked through the door and closed it after him.

"Good evening, Admiral," Thrall said.

"Ah- good evening." Tandred cleared his throat and gave his sister a tight, confused look. "Jaina…?"

"This was found in Tiragarde Keep," she said, thrusting the letter into his hands.

"Tiragarde-" Tandred started, but fell silent as he glanced down at the paper.

His eyes widened and brow furrowed as he read. That disturbed look remained as he looked up at Jaina, then turned towards Thrall.

"You could have brought this up with me earlier today…" Tandred said, in a guarded tone.

"Jaina did not help to convince you to meet me in public, just so I could accuse your men of staging an attack our lands," Thrall calmly replied.

Tandred scowled at the paper in his hand, then suddenly straightened up.

"The soldiers stationed here have not reported to Kul Tiras in years," he told Thrall. "What is the current situation?"

"Tiragarde is not much more than a crumbling ruin," Thrall replied and shook his head. "About two hundred soldiers stubbornly hold it, however."

"Two hundred?" Tandred said. He frowned up at the orc. "Warchief, if I may be so blunt, you could certainly overpower so few with ease, could you not?"

"I could, Admiral," Thrall replied in the same formal tone. "But I have not, out of mercy and a feeling that it might be seen a declaration of war by some in the Alliance. They have been an eyesore and annoyance, nothing else, and I felt it unnecessary to crush them. That seems to have been a mistake, judging by that letter."

Tandred rubbed his chin, staring at the report as he thought.

"And in light of these news," he finally said, looking up again, "what do you plan to do?"

"There are voices demanding Tiragarde be leveled by the ground right away," Thrall said. He watched Tandred steadily. "However, your sister's and my marriage adds another political level to it. Especially since those soldiers by all accounts are rightfully yours, Admiral."

"You would let me deal with this, then?" Tandred paused, eyebrows twitching when Thrall nodded in reply. He gestured at the letter. "But I cannot guarantee that they answer to me, from what I've heard they are fanatical about fighting your people."

"Something must be done," Thrall said. "I would prefer if a peaceful solution could at least be attempted before it comes to blows."

Tandred opened his mouth, then paused and seemed to reconsider. Then he slowly nodded.

"I will contact Captain Waycrest, my second in command," he said. "It will take a couple of days, but I will do my utmost to sort this out. Even if I don't have news before the celebration, I swear, it will not take long before I have a proper overview of what actions should be taken."

"I appreciate your aid in this, truly."

Studying the orc for a moment, then glancing at Jaina, Tandred seemed to reach the conclusion that yes, the Warchief meant that.

"Very well," the Admiral finally said, and raised the letter slightly. "If I may keep this?"

Thrall nodded again.

"Certainly. And I ask pardon for intruding on your time so suddenly," he replied.

"It is no problem, considering the grave matter," Tandred said, although the way he glanced between Thrall and Jaina showed how he had troubles reconciling this politeness with the huge orc.

"Well then," Jaina said, nodding to her brother as she reached out. Thrall moved his hand closer to hers as she did, until they touched. "I wish you a good night, Tandred."

"Good night…" he echoed, voice sounding just the little bit faint.

Jaina quickly cast the spell and severed the awkward farewells by simply bringing Thrall and herself straight back to his chambers in Orgrimmar.

"Thank the Light that that's over," she breathed and rubbed her temples.

Only now, in retrospect, she realized how tense she had been. It was a relief to pull the adorned pauldrons from her shoulders. She put them on a chair, then heavily sat down on the bed.

An agreeing murmur, and a hard clattering of metal. With fingers so well honed in the movements that he could probably do it in his sleep, Thrall plucked at the straps of his armor. Bit by bit, the legendary gear came off his body and he placed all the pieces on the armor stand by the wall.

In a way, it was strange seeing him undress, even though it wasn't the first time. She could still count the times on one hand, though. Shedding the armor made him look a little shorter, but not by much. He was tall even for an orc, and his size remained imposing even when dressed only in the simple shirt and pants he wore beneath the protective gear.

For a moment she pondered teleporting back to her own rooms in Theramore to change into her nightdress, but pushed it aside for now. It was not very late in the evening. Right then, she wanted to stay and breathe for a little while before she used magic again.

She smiled when Thrall met her gaze, and he returned it, walking towards her on bare feet while pulling the shirt over his head. A moment later he seated himself beside her, absentmindedly folding the piece of clothing before dropping it at the foot of the bed. All the time, he watched her. By now she was so used to seeing him shirtless that the vast amount of green skin with its many scars was merely gently familiar – as long as she did not begin to think about all the pain those scars must indicate.

"Tandred is still shaken," she commented, "but I think he feels a little less worried about me now, at least."

"And about the rest?" Thrall asked.

"He will come to accept it." She smiled. "You confused him a good deal. I believe he still expected to be blamed for Tiragarde Keep until just now."

At that, Thrall just hummed and shook his head. Both of them knew that he would never have done that, of course.

However, her eyes hardened again as she spoke.

"You know those soldiers better than Tandred and I do," she said. "They aren't going to listen to him, are they?"

Thrall sighed.

"I highly doubt they will," he said. "But I feel better at least giving your brother, and diplomacy, a chance."

"Considering they aren't loyal to my family anymore it may sound strange, but I'm glad you are willing to try."

"Of course."

He smiled, but they both left it unsaid that that it was hardly the strangest people he had given a chance of proving themselves.

Unbeknownst to her, he also had no intention of letting Jaina know what the Kul Tiras soldiers in that crumbling fortress had taken to shouting at anybody coming within earshot. The people of Razor Hill were getting so fed up with the crazed insults aimed at "your traitor harlot of a queen" (that being some of the kinder words) that they accepted it as another reason to beat up any straying patrols. In a way, the orcs and trolls in the village were defending Jaina's honor, and if things kept up they might even be proud to admit it – if just to annoy the human fanatics.

But Jaina didn't need to know anything about that. Anyway, he figured, holding back another sigh, she probably already knew by a guess.

"I also have to admire his will to do anything about it," Jaina said, tipping her head back to stare at the rough ceiling. "It won't make him anymore popular with the Alliance, but…"

She paused, then continued although she still didn't look at Thrall.

"In the long run, this might not change anything about that. No matter what Tandred does, Kul Tiras will lose even more standing in the Alliance, just because he was here and didn't talk me into breaking up this union."

She was talking to herself as much as with Thrall. Sorting out thoughts. He simply hummed, recognizing what she was doing. After a few words, she leaned against him and he raised one hand to her back, silently inviting her to follow as he shifted further up on the bed. Jaina moved along with him, in the end resting her temple against his collarbone.

"Oh, they knew it couldn't be done, but I'm sure they put some last hope in Tandred," she went on and sighed. "I told him I think King Bronzebeard might be talked into offering some support, though. Ironforge and Kul Tiras could use this to cut trading deals if only the dwarves- mrr…"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she slumped closer against Thrall's bare chest. His body heat was inviting, but part of her mind noticed that he was a little tense.

"It's not my business to worry about the politics of Kul Tiras anymore," she grunted, shaking her head. As Thrall's thick, green arms reached around her, Jaina allowed herself a brief, childish fantasy of his embrace being able to ward off her own hollering thoughts. It didn't work, but it was a momentary respite for her brain, at least. "Enough," she murmured. "I have been a politician for too long today."

"Your brother is no fool, and he must be braver than your father if he dares to come to Orgrimmar to see me in person," Thrall said. He growled, just as the words left his mouth. "No, I shouldn't have brought him up. I'm sorry."

"No, no. You have a valid point."

Tandred's and her father had been a living presence the whole day, painfully so. They would have to speak of him directly at some point. Now when it was done, Jaina found that it was actually a relief.

She leaned back to meet the gaze from his blue eyes.

"I've said it before, I don't blame you," she said. "I never blamed you." As much as it hurt, and she had cried – no, she would not, could not, place the guilt on him.

For a moment he said nothing, only looked at her with a mix of guilt and relief in his blue eyes. There was something more behind that, also, something soft and warm and familiar, and it finally blanketed the regret.

"It must be painful having to be so brave," he said, touching her shoulder like he had done every now and then for years.

She would have shook her head, but it turned into a joyless little smile instead – because he knew, he knew exactly how it felt. She could have said something, but no suitable, no needed words came to mind. Instead she just met his gaze in silence.

The way he watched her sent a hot thrill shivering down Jaina's spine, chasing away the bitter smile from her face. She wet her lips and swallowed against the soft numbness filling her throat.

Not until then did she realize that she kneeled on the mattress with his legs encircling her, just as his arms did. He seemed to realize it too judging by the small start, and moved as if to bring both of them out of the situation. When she pressed a hand to his chest, however, he stopped and looked at her.

Neither of them moved, watching each other. Breathing. Waiting.

"But you are still nervous," he finally said in a rumbling murmur.

In the silence, she nodded her head slowly.

Every sound grew loud in that atmosphere, so that the brush of Jaina's knees against the mattress rung in their ears. It was brief, she shifted to raise her arms to reach his face. Soft, pink fingertips against coarse, green skin, a crisp whisper of touch.

"I don't think I'll ever stop being nervous until we've passed this obstacle." She brushed her thumb against his cheek, and added, "And neither will you."

He leant forwards then, and pressed his lips to her forehead. Not very soft, but strong and warm, and the rough texture of his tusks against her skin made her tremble in anxious anticipation. A runaway thought pointed out that that was not a very sane reaction to a simple kiss filled with fangs.

Straightening, he met her gaze again and stroked a big, green thumb over her cheek, like a mirror of Jaina's movement.

"Tell me at any time, if you feel uncomfortable," he said, watching her earnestly. He made no attempt to mask the note of worry in his tone. No warm emotion, common ground or amount of respect for each other could take away the fact of their physical differences. It was what they had to find out the truth about, now.

She nodded again, mouthing "I will", but only part of that received any voice. Her fingers slipped away from Thrall, to pick at the thin straps holding the halves of her cloth chest piece together. The vest slid downwards with ease, and the sleeves were so wide that she could shake her arms free with a few quick twitches. As it fell towards the mattress behind her, the cloth tickled her bare skin. Glancing away, Jaina reached back and flicked the discarded cloth aside.

At first, she felt a stitching instinct to move an arm to cover her chest. She had not been naked before a man since Arthas, and that made her feel even more self-conscious in this delicate moment. At the same time, deep down she felt suddenly grateful to have some experience – in stark contrast to the years she had spent regretting her youthful breach of noble lady morals.

Suppressing that coy instinct she raised her hands to Thrall's chest instead. He watched her face, that faint, soft smile still on his huge lips. As if he had just waited for the touch of her fingertips against his skin, he didn't move until then. His hand slipped away from cupping her cheek, to her shoulder, where he let it rest for a moment before continuing.

Arthas had been experienced and confident, skillfully caressing with a gentleness to make her feel safe and loved. She loved him too, at that time. This was different, it couldn't be anything but different, but not in a bad way. Where Arthas had played his fingers across her body, knowing just what everything would do to her, Thrall moved slowly. Exploring.

Jaina leaned back against his other arm, leaving herself open to his touch. Green fingers almost as thick as her wrist brushed, caressed her skin and she melted against his warmth. He did know what he was doing, she could tell, but at the same time there was a sense of curiosity. It was all familiar and foreign to both of them.

Their eyes met and she smiled, a soft breath escaping her when his hand moved on.

For a moment she wondered if this was anything to him like how a shaman seeks connection to the elements. The thought seemed so strange to her overheated brain that she let out a short breathless laugh, which continued when Thrall quirked an eyebrow at her.

"What?" he asked, sounding amused too, smitten by her silly grin.

The last thought fluttered away, and she latched onto the next one to have something to reply with.

"Feels as if we're breaking new land, again," she said, still breathless. The grin just wouldn't let go, even though the sentence sounded like gibberish once she spoke it. Was she tipsy from the wine she'd had with Tandred? No, couldn't be, it was too long ago.

Although Thrall tilted his head a little bit, his amused look didn't falter into a confused one. He seemed to have been able to find some semblance of logic in her claim.

"At least there aren't any quilboars this time," he commented.

They stared at each other for a second, before the absurdity of what they had both said overcame them. Jaina crumbled against Thrall's chest, his mighty chuckles rumbling at her cheek and hands while she too laughed.

"And thank the Light for that!" Jaina managed between chortles, which only made it worse. Shaking with mirth Thrall pulled her closer and she pressed her forehead to his collarbone.

It took several moments to recover, but finally Thrall sat back and wiped his eyes.

"How silly…" Jaina gasped, smiling and mimicking him. "I'm sorry."

"No, no. Hah!"

He tipped his head back, loudly exhaling. His black hair cascaded behind him, causing a whispering rustle as he straightened again, still grinning. The wide smile softened as he watched her though, and Jaina felt her own face relax as well.

Ridiculous as that had been, it certainly made the air lighter.

Stretching upwards, Jaina reached around Thrall's neck. His hair tickled her arms, and she carefully brushed her lips against his, keeping his tusks in mind. It felt rather odd doing that, his mouth was simply too large for it. Odd, but not wrong.

She sunk back, and one of his hands came to meet her, warm against her shoulder blades. With his other hand he braced himself against the mattress when Jaina continued backwards until she laid down, smiling up at Thrall as he followed her.

Foreheads brushing, gently, slowly.

No more politics today.


	12. Little Breathing Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See that age rating? Yeah we're not raising that, sorry. Enjoy the afterglow.

Silky rays of moonlight shone through the cracks in the wooden window covers. On the other end of the large room, the flame in an oil lamp flickered, casting its warm glow.

It was an easy, lazy silence that filled the shared space.

Cloth and furs rustled slightly as Thrall pulled the blanket further up over Jaina's shoulders. She smiled, though he could only see it vaguely from the corner of his eye, with her temple resting against his collarbone. Letting go of the blanket, he reached below it and placed his hand against her bare back, joining the arm already encircling her.

He didn't feel inclined to move any more than that, nor did he want to speak. This was enough. Just their breathing, and her warm, soft body sprawled over his.

Seconds trailed past, and they both let the time pass.

Still, there was a subject that dredged itself up in Thrall's consciousness even as he struggled to keep it down. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to speak of it, but it was there and demanding attention, intruding on their peace.

In the end, it was Jaina who took it upon herself. She broke the silence with a soft sigh, idly stroking her hand over his chest.

"I don't really want to talk about this now, but, that thing I said when your grandmother asked if I could bear an orc child…"

She trailed off, and Thrall nodded slowly, shifting his grip of her.

Half-orcs were hardly known for being the most careful, wise members of society – the were even brasher and louder than full orcs, seemingly always haunted by a real or perceived feeling of inadequacy. That desperate need to prove themselves to the people around them chased many of them into an early grave.

The fear for their child was staggering. Even worse for a half-orc who grew up under the weight of, as she had said some days ago, the legends about such parents. Had he or Jaina married one of their own kind, those children would have suffered the same issue of legacy. Yet, a child of mixed blood would have a double burden.

"We can only try to raise them to have faith in themselves," he murmured.

She nodded, but as he stroked her back he knew very well that the same feeling of sizzling, dreadful worry filled her.

"Will Theramore accept such an heir?" he said in a low voice.

Jaina bowed her head, hair tickling his skin as lightly as a breath.

"Tandred said something of the sort," she mumbled. "I doubt it. At least, for now." She straightened, pushing herself up to look him in the eye. "We better wait for a few years and let everyone get used to this whole situation, first."

He almost smiled, but only almost.

"You needn't look so worried," he said and touched her cheek. "I would have suggested as much myself, had you not said it."

Still a spark of relief flashed in her eyes as she nodded and sunk back down. Thrall moved his hand to her shoulder, stroking it with his thumb. Their children would have a hard enough time. The best thing that could be done for them, was to prevent them from being conceived before the world was better prepared for them.

So occupied was his mind with those concerns that he did not connect the facts until Jaina's arms squeezed his neck. He blinked, and then that smile broke through, much warmer than it would have been moments before.

Shifting his grip again he held her close, and she softly hummed, smiling, to confirm that yes, she was no longer nervous.

They laid in silence for a few moments, until Jaina spoke again.

"But, what of the Horde, will they accept it? It's so much more than just Theramore."

Thrall stared at the ceiling, lips drawing back from his clenching fangs.

"My heir will have to prove himself no matter who he is," he said, sighing.

With a low groan, Jaina tightened her arms around his neck and he squeezed her in return. That was just the kind of thinking that killed so many youngsters, of all races. Thrall gritted his teeth and took in a deep breath.

"Perhaps we shouldn't fret too much about this preemptively," he murmured. "We have enough worries already."

"Yes," Jaina agreed, relaxing slightly. "But we ought to talk about it."

"True. That and all the other things that make us nervous." The echo of his own and her words hung in the air between them. Jaina quirked an eyebrow, lips twitching.

"Are you joking with me, Go'el?" she asked.

He grinned at her when she heaved herself up on her arms once more.

"I've never made a joke in my life," he said.

"Is it cause for capital punishment to tell the Warchief that he's being silly?" Saying so, she did something he found to be uncharacteristically silly herself, and kissed his nose.

"Depends on if you can defend your atrocious actions."

As they both chuckled, he enclosed her in his arms again.

There was something else about his role as leader that greatly concerned him, but he did not want to add to her fears right then. Later he would have to explain, but now was certainly not the time.

He might be in a secure position now, revered as the Warchief and war hero, but orcish laws remained based on strength. Someday, somebody would challenge him for the leadership, and Thrall was not fool enough to think himself invincible.

* * *

A messenger arrived as the sun rose above the horizon. An orc with brown skin, bearing a brief announcement.

Then the whispers started. They poured from Grommash Hold and swept throughout the city still reeling from the shock of their Warchief's recent decisions. This, however, was something completely different. This was orc business, something familiar. They had already been granted the visit of the Warchief's grandmother, and now they were told another Mag'har approached. A budding legend.

_Hellscream approaches._

A short while later they entered through a portal, just like Greatmother Geyah had done. The small troop of Mag'har, led by Garrosh Hellscream walked through Orgrimmar, shown the way by Kor'kron Elites trying very hard not to exchange glances along the way.

People lined the streets, muttering amongst each other. Many frowned in worry, some snickered, others made playful, nervous bets about where this was going. The reactions all came from taking one single look at the expression on Garrosh's face.

Thrall saw it too, vaguely as soon as the warriors entered Grommash Hold and walked towards him. His good mood evaporated like dark smoke stifling a bright blue sky.

The sound of armor clanging was almost deafening, until the Kor'krons hurriedly stepped away to get out of the line of fire. They had to restrain themselves, though, feeling like they ought to stand between the throne and the visitors. That would have sent a rude message to the Mag'har, however, and the guards weren't so bold as to risk that without being ordered to.

The air seemed to crackle as the Warchief met the glare of his honor brother's son.

"If you have a great concern," Thrall said, but there was a dangerous note in his voice, "I welcome you speaking without restraint."

Garrosh's face only moved as much as he had to, in order to take in a deep breath. Many hands in the hall twitched, instinctively wanting to fly up and cover their owners' ears. Looking at Garrosh's expression, nobody could doubt what would come next.

To say that the young Hellscream simply "spoke" would be a gross understatement.

"Has everyone gone _mad_?"

As he struggled against the wish to rub his ears to fight the ringing in them, Thrall inwardly sighed.

This, oh this would be difficult.

He came to think so over and over again during the following discussion in one of the council rooms, together with Saurfang, Drek'Thar and Vol'jin. Out of view from everyone else, the troll was the first to toss pride out the window and pointedly cover his ears the second time Garrosh's temper grew stronger than his judgment of volume.

In all honesty, it was not so much a "discussion" as a barely controlled shouting match.

"And did growing up among humans strip you of all respect for our ancient traditions, Warchief?" Garrosh snarled, slamming his fist into the table in the center of the room. The piece of furniture shook, but at least did not crack down the middle. "I thought the recount of your mating ceremony was a joke, and now I'm told that–"

"If you cannot speak at a civilized volume, Hellscream, I refuse to take part in this meeting at all," Drek'Thar icily said, folding his arms. "I would prefer to not lose my sense of hearing as well."

"And I will not stand for you insulting me," Thrall snarled, his last shreds of self-control shattering. "If you cannot bring up anything constructive, there's no reason for us to waste time here."

Garrosh snarled, but after staring back into Thrall's eyes for a moment he grunted and folded his arms.

"Greatmother Geyah said she couldn't find any fault with your human," he said slowly, obviously loath to admit it. The way he said "human", though, was laced with barely subdued disdain.

Thrall, who had braced himself for a direct insult aimed at Jaina, and felt unsure if he would be able to keep from punching Garrosh in the face, very carefully relaxed the tiniest bit. He wondered if his grandmother had told Garrosh to mind himself. If so, it finally seemed to have some effect.

"No, she didn't," Thrall replied in a guarded tone.

Vol'jin and Saurfang exchanged glances, only now finding out that the two women had met.

For another moment Garrosh glared at Thrall, fingers rapping loudly against his gauntlet. His lips twitched as if he was about to speak but stopped himself. Then, finally he grumbled his question.

"But why a human? There must be many among our people who oppose the match."

"As many as among her people." Thrall continued to regard Garrosh with a guarded mindset. "Her brother was convinced I had forced her into it."

A look of confusion passed over Garrosh's angry features, confusion that somebody could think a woman would have to be coerced to be the Warchief's mate. He saw only the great honor it entailed to be offered such a role in life. Thrall wasn't sure what to feel about the look on the younger orc's face.

"These politics seem to be more complicated than they need to be," Garrosh finally said.

"Starting a fight is easy," Thrall said. "Ending it is more difficult."

Garrosh shrugged his mighty shoulders. Judging by the look of him, he probably didn't see how it could be more complicated than simply killing all the enemies. For a moment Thrall closed his eyes against the bristle of annoyance. He moved his thoughts to the image of Jaina's hair spread over the pillow, gleaming in the light of the flickering oil lamp. The look in her eyes as she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, the way she smiled when he touched her face.

The frustration ran off him and he looked up again.

"On that matter, I would like to tell you why I called you here," Thrall said, although he honestly wondered if he really wanted to ruin Garrosh's hard-won composure.

For a moment the Mag'har looked like he would protest, but let it rest. The inflamed subject was dropped for now – only to be replaced by another.

"You have heard reports about the battles in Warsong Gulch, I assume," Thrall said, and Garrosh nodded. "I have been discussing the matter with the night elf leader and we agree that we should both withdraw–" Watching the look on Garrosh's face change, the Warchief clenched his teeth. In the background, Vol'jin pressed his hands against his long ears again, and Drek'Thar wisely raised his hands for the same reason. Saurfang's pride kept him from doing the same, regrettably. Thrall had the same handicap. "… our troops until we can come to a–"

He gave up and paused, rolling his eyes upwards in exasperation at Garrosh's reaction.

" _WHAT_?"

And then it was no longer a discussion at all.

The other three in the room stood by, exasperated and helpless. It would be a poor Warchief who needed support against one single opponent, all of them knew that. So Saurfang, Vol'jin and Drek'Thar could really only watch and listen as Thrall and Garrosh shouted at each other.

"My father's spirit would be furious!" Garrosh roared. The irony in him now honoring his father's memory, when he had been ashamed of him mere months ago, flew past in the rage. "To give an inch–!"

"The fighting has made the gulch useless!" Thrall shouted back. "Nobody gets anything from it, neither side has buckled since they began struggling!"

"Then we should increase troops until it's ours! Withdrawing is an insult to all orcs!"

"Even if we won, the elves would keep raiding the gulch. We can't spare the troops to safeguard it!"

"So you say we run and let them have it?"

"The Cenarion Circle are–"

"This is an offense to all–!"

"This is not Draenor!" Thrall's armored fingertip met Garrosh's chest piece with a hard clank. "Are you questioning my–"

A knock on the door cut him off.

"What?" Thrall and Garrosh both snarled, whirling towards the disruption.

A female Kor'kron Elite cautiously poked her head in, obviously not happy about putting herself in this particular line of fire.

"Warchief…" she started, then cleared her throat and stared straight ahead. "A messenger from the Undercity wishes to speak with you. He says that it's very important."

Thrall hesitated for a moment. He felt no desire to back out of the argument before it was won, but the rational part of him knew that it would take a long time to convince Garrosh. With their tempers flaring, it would only take longer. It might simply be for the best to give both of them a chance to cool off.

"Very well," he said and cast a cold glance at Garrosh, who glared back. "We will continue speaking of this later."

Garrosh simply grunted.

It was a relief to leave the council chamber and return to the throne room. Then again, Thrall was darkly aware that Sylvanas would not call anything "very important" unless it truly was. On the other hand, he figured, it could not be more frustrating and painful than arguing with Grom's son.

And just like countless others, the Warchief would soon realize that thinking such things was to invite disaster with open arms.

* * *

The whole day, Jaina had felt as if a weight had dropped from her shoulders. Only now in retrospect, she realized how much the anxiety had slowly built up within her. Had it gone on longer, it might have turned to fear. She was more relieved than she could say, to have abolished it.

Rather annoying, on the other hand, was the way she could swear Aegwynn glanced at her more than once, with a fond, yet shrewd expression. The sorceress had certainly caught the absentminded smile on Jaina's lips when they met that morning, before the much younger woman managed to wipe it off.

As she listened to reports and petitions in the throne room now, Jaina found her thoughts shamelessly wandering for brief moments. Her control over her own mind never slipped for long, thankfully, and so she didn't miss much.

When a guard announced that Messenger Ta'sih of Orgrimmar had arrived, however, Jaina snapped to full attention.

The female troll mage didn't have the same relaxed swagger in her step as when she had walked in the first time a couple of days ago, with the letter from Cairne Bloodhoof.

"Welcome back." Jaina frowned and slightly tilted her head as she noticed the uneasy look on the troll's face. "Is something the matter?"

"Ah well, mah Lady…" Ta'sih said, saluting and bowing her head. "Ah bear no lettah today. Da Warchief told me ta ask ye ta come ta Grommash Hold."

"I see," Jaina said. She tried not to let her frown deepen. It was probably not simple politeness from Thrall to not simply use their runestones to summon her. The look on the troll's face was worrisome, too. "What is the reason for this?"

The troll straightened up, pursing her lips.

"Lady Sylvanas wants ta speak with both of ya," she said.

Jaina blinked, and she heard a clatter as the guards by the door straightened up in shock. Aegwynn narrowed her eyes, scowling. Shaking her head quickly, Ta'sih raised both three-fingered hands.

"Da Warchief said, he dun wanna force ya, mah Lady, he'da nevah do dat."

"I know he wouldn't," Jaina said, without thinking.

She nervously wet her lips. Facing Sylvanas was not something she had looked forwards to, although she had known it would have to happen at some point. Still, no matter what Thrall said about this being a free choice, he had to know as well as Jaina did that there could be no backing out.

Nodding, she looked to Aegwynn, knowing the guards watched her uneasily. She could sympathize with them quite well.

"You can handle matters here for a little while, then," Jaina said, and the chamberlain grimly nodded.

Jaina squared her jaw and turned to the guards by the door.

"Call Emissary Southstone and five Elite Guards," she said. "The emissary may bring his own personal escort."

Thrall would not have sent her a summons this way if he didn't mean for it to be a formal meeting. With Sir Dunhave and Lord Lor'themar, neither of them had been prepared beforehand. This was different.

It didn't take long for the guards to arrive to the throne room, soon followed by emissary Southstone. Tension mounted in the air as the Elites saluted with stiff motions. Even Thomas, who normally would look thrilled over a chance to visit Orgrimmar, nervously picked at his silver grey robes. Beside him, his aide Simon Nebula shifted weight from foot to foot – having his own personal reasons to dread facing anything that had to do with Forsaken. The only one who seemed fairly unconcerned was the other, blond man by Thomas' side, wearing leather armor emblazoned with Theramore's golden anchor. He stared straight ahead, face impassive. But then, Jaina remembered that Thomas had mentioned that his rogue friend turned guardian, Collins, was a master at hiding his emotions.

She realized that she thought about all this because she didn't really want to think about meeting Lady Sylvanas.

"Are we expected to arrive in Grommash Hold?" she asked Ta'sih, just to make sure before she teleported a small troop right in.

"Yes, mah Lady," the troll replied with a stiff nod.

Taking in a deep breath, Jaina raised her hand and focused.

"Then, everyone, we're going," she said.

"Yes, my Lady," eight voices replied, with various levels of success at hiding their apprehension.

The throne room of Theramore flashed away, only to be replaced with the one of Orgrimmar. Jaina's eyes darted to meet Thrall's gaze. It was easy enough, as she and the others had appeared just beneath the steps to his throne. He scowled, but it eased when he saw her.

"Warchief," Ta'sih nervously said and saluted before stepping away as soon as he nodded.

"Welcome back," Thrall said.

He held out his hand, palm up, in a silent gesture. Jaina caught on and walked up the stairs alone, laying her hand in his for a moment before stepping up beside him. As the Warchief indicated at them to do so, the other humans moved to the side.

The various members of the Horde gathered in the hall, from messengers to guards, watched the humans intently. The atmosphere felt less hostile than it had done when Tandred visited. Instead, the tension had an almost just as unpleasantly smug note, expectant of how the Dark Lady would press the humans.

"She won't be here in person," Thrall murmured, and his thumb brushed Jaina's hand before releasing her.

Jaina allowed herself a small, silent breath of relief. In a diplomatic sense, she shouldn't feel relieved at not having to meet with such an important person, but she couldn't help it – nor could she blame herself.

"Emissary," Thrall said in a louder, neutral voice.

"Yes, Warchief," a hoarse voice replied.

A Forsaken mage stepped forwards from the sidelines, moving to stand a few feet away from the foot of the stair. He bowed, before straightening as much as his back allowed. Jaina clenched her teeth under the amused glare from the yellow, glowing eyes. She was grateful for Thrall's steadying presence.

"I will be bringing forth Lady Sylvanas image," the Forsaken man announced. This surely brought the same relief to Thomas and the others, as Jaina had just felt when Thrall eased her tension.

The mage raised his hands. Just as when Lord Lor'themar had made his appearance through a magical illusion, light leapt from the Forsaken's skeletal hands and formed a circle on the floor. From it rose a half transparent, pale high elf wearing dark leather armor and a bow slung over her shoulders. Unlike her Forsaken, Sylvanas' eyes glowed red, but just as merciless.

"Warchief. Lady Proudmoore," she said, her voice raspy and icy. She sounded bored.

The hairs on Jaina's neck rose, but she bowed her head in greeting – glad to for a moment look away.

"Lady Sylvanas," she said, her voice as neutral as she could make it.

"You had something you wanted to tell us?" Thrall said, nodding briefly.

"In a way, yes." Sylvanas paused. "The truth is, I am not the one that has something to discuss with the two of you."

Jaina frowned, and she heard Thrall shift his weight beside her.

"What is the meaning of this, then?" he asked, and there was a dangerous tone in his voice. He was apparently not amused by the Dark Lady's little game, whatever it was, and Jaina fully agreed.

"Believe me, I am not thrilled to be used as a mediator between you and this particular… person," Sylvanas said.

Her lips twitched – either in a smirk or a purse of her mouth. Impossible to tell.

"But," she went on, "the fact of the matter is that the Lich King wishes to speak with you."


	13. Confrontation

A strange noise escaped Jaina, but that sound drowned in the growl reverberating from Thrall's chest, and from all the people standing around. Even Ambassador Dawnsinger let hear a hissing gasp in the background.

_No no no it's too much I can't do this!_

Panic flooded Jaina's mind, gut clenching into an icy knot at the prospect of seeing Arthas, what was left of him. Nobody knew what that would be, as the only reports of the Lich King was from those Scourge with more mind left than mere zombies – those howling praises to Arthas, the Lich King.

But she wrestled those emotions aside, straightening her neck further.

"I'm not much amused by listening to threats, and I don't expect he will have anything else to say," she said. The fact that her tone remained even throughout surprised her greatly.

"I fully agree with Jaina," Thrall said, his voice deep as a growl. His armor clanged as he folded his arms across his chest as he watched the Queen of the Forsaken. "Also, I don't see why you would want to help him contact us."

Lady Sylvanas' expression didn't change in the least even in the face of this not too covert accusation of foul play.

"I don't, not really," she said. Then, one corner of her lips drew upwards just the tiniest bit. "However, he's been so very adamant about this that I'm," she tilted her head ever so slightly, "almost amused."

That did in no way make Jaina feel any better about the whole thing. She didn't want to face Arthas in the first place, and especially not if he was that insistent about what he had to say.

"He must be very adamant indeed for you to feel that way," Thrall said, in the same tone as before.

"Perhaps you will understand if you hear the reports," Sylvanas replied.

She turned her head and nodded to somebody only she saw. The circle of light in which her illusion stood widened a little, and a Forsaken male in tattered armor walked into existence within it. He didn't wait for any other permission, but raised the bundle of papers in his gloved hands.

"Report from the Bulwark on the border between Tirisfal Glades and the Western Plaguelands, courtesy of Argent Officer Garush," he started in a raspy voice.

The name wasn't familiar to Jaina, but it certainly sounded more like an orc's name than anything else. The Argent Dawn did employ people of all races. The author's allegiances did promise some semblance of trustworthiness to the report, but it didn't make her more relaxed in the least. While she briefly pondered this, the Forsaken warrior named the date just two days after the wedding in Ratchet and continued:

"Just after sunrise, a lone Scourge mage made his way towards the border. He was killed on sight since he didn't speak, like many who have broken free of the Scourge do when seeking refuge among the Forsaken. In his hand, held a ripped off piece of canvas. Might have been part of a Scarlet Crusade tent. Nothing else to report, but we discussed this strange behavior. All available warriors ordered to keep an eye out. Midday: another strange approach. This time a lonely Nerubian. Killed on sight. Carried what might have been a curtain at some point. Evening: Another mage. Carried the other half of the curtain."

Despite Jaina's efforts to keep her face neutral, her eyebrows desperately twitched to rise and express her growing disbelief. Half of her wanted to ask if there was a point to this charade, the other half was, despite herself, wondering what on earth the Lich King was trying to accomplish.

The warrior removed the first paper and folded it at the end of the bundle before continuing in the same monotone voice. In the background, Sylvanas remained unmoving.

"Next morning: So far, four crazy members of the Scourge in two days. This one held what looked like a shirt. We burned it. Later that morning: really starting to wonder what is going on. Another piece of canvas. Midday: it happened again. This mage started to shout something before he was killed. Ordered the warriors to listen next time. Afternoon: a second Nerubian. Not taking chances. Killed on sight. Unable to identify piece of cloth."

"Lady Sylvanas…" Thrall said, and he couldn't keep his disbelief out of his voice.

"Bear with me, Warchief," she replied. Her lips crinkled again. "Perhaps you see why I am almost amused, though?"

"It's peculiar, I will grant you that." He snorted, in irritation or bewilderment was difficult to tell. "Get to the point."

"As you wish, Warchief," the warrior said and put another paper aside. "Next day midday: the latest Scourge mage had time to finish his sentence. He shouted 'It's a white flag, curse you'. Turned to cinders two seconds later. Expect another will come. Will try to keep it alive long enough for an explanation."

If any of the Forsaken – the mage who provided the speaking illusions, the warrior, or Lady Sylvanas herself – were amused by the blank looks they were getting, they didn't show it.

"I expect that it's too much to hope for, that the entire Scourge is surrendering?" Thrall dryly said.

Jaina, on her end, struggled to not laugh hysterically. The whole thing was so bizarre that she was starting to wonder if she simply dreamt it all. The mindlessly practical tone of the reports and the stubborn attempts to communicate clashed with the ice cold fact that she might still come face to face – through an illusion, but that was a weak comfort – with the Lich King within minutes.

It was insane.

"Sadly not, no," Sylvanas replied to Thrall's sarcasm. Her tone remained indifferent, making it impossible to tell if she thought he was serious. She waved her hand, and the warrior nodded.

"Evening," the Forsaken droned on, "managed to keep this one alive. Maybe carried another curtain. The prisoner said that his master demands to speak with Warchief Thrall and Lady Proudmoore. In the last moment, thought better of smashing his rotten head in. Spoke with the Forsaken in the camp. Sent a messenger to Lady Sylvanas. Smashed the mage's head in when her reply said to do so."

The warrior lowered the papers.

"It continues in the same vein for the following days, Warchief," he said.

"Officer Garush finally saw fit to send me these copies of his reports," Lady Sylvanas spoke up. "And the latest Scourge mage." Her lips, perhaps, twitched. The motion was so slight that it was difficult to tell. "I have no desire to provide any help for the Lich King, but since he's so desperate to speak with you that he takes to such childishly obstinate behavior, it's enough to make me curious."

Letting out a slow snort through his nose, Thrall shook his head.

"I have no desire to indulge him," he said. His tone, however, made it clear that he had not finished speaking.

Looking up, Jaina met his gaze and a silent understanding passed between them. Just like her decision to come here in the first place – they could not back down. She wasn't sure if she managed to keep a flash of fear from showing in her eyes. If it was there, at least Thrall would be the only one who saw it.

She didn't want to see Arthas, she had no idea what it would mean to her, or Thrall. Her throat felt so tight she could hardly breathe. It was all she could do to fold her arms across her chest as if in defiance or resolution – when in reality it was to keep her hands from shaking.

"But, I would not let him believe either of us fear to face him," Thrall said, and Jaina nodded as she turned back to face the room, jaw set.

"Very well, Warchief," Sylvanas said. She did not sound pleased, or annoyed. It was just a statement.

The Forsaken man who had read the reports bowed his head and stepped back, disappearing as he got out of reach for the illusion spell's range. While he was still moving away, Sylvanas looked around and up, nodding.

A gigantic hoof moved into the illusion from thin air, clattering hard against the floor in the Undercity as an armored leg followed. Another step brought the huge, monstrous form of Varimathras fully into the vision. With the illusion showing everything in real size, he seemed to fill up far too much of the great hall even as he folded his wings. The smile on his lips was in no way neutral. Jaina clenched her teeth harder, and she felt sure that she wasn't the only one.

Dangling by its waist in the dreadlord's right hand was an unmoving skeleton. Some strips of flesh and cloth clung to it, but nothing more. At first it appeared as dead as it should be, but when Varimathras dropped it on the floor it let out a furious shriek and started to push itself up. This stopped when the demon placed one hoof on the skeleton's upper back, dangerously close to the dirty skull.

"You heard the Warchief," Sylvanas icily said. "The Lich King may speak."

She probably took more delight in that last sentence than she would admit, so icily declaring that her nemesis was _allowed_ to talk. It didn't seem to pass the Scourge mage by, as he hissed between his bared teeth. But he didn't say anything in reply, instead reached his arms forwards over the floor. A bright flare leaped from his hands as he muttered. Yet another magical circle formed, within the one that already displayed the gathering in the Undercity.

In the background the Forsaken mage let out a growl, shifting uneasily but then steeled himself.

Thrall's big, armored hand landed on Jaina's shoulder, and in her tension it almost caused her to jump out of her skin. But after a snap of calming breath, she felt grateful for the silent support.

At first it was just a shimmer in the air above the smaller magical circle, the illusion that was sent from the Scourge wizard and through the undead man standing in Grommash Hold. It flickered, faded, and then all of a sudden sprang into full, painful clarity.

Jaina wasn't sure how anybody else reacted, feeling blind, deaf and numb all at the same time. If she hadn't known that it was Arthas, she might not have been able to tell at first, not in that jagged, unnaturally dark armor adorned with skulls. It looked nothing like she remembered him – wearing polished, bright plate armor and Lorderon's colors, his blond hair glistening in the sun.

He floated a few inches above the floor with his back to Sylvanas and Varimathras, facing instead Thrall and Jaina. For the first second, he didn't move at all. Then an icy blue glow rose behind the dark helmet, just where his eyes should have been, and he straightened up even more. Jaina's nails dug into her arm, and she had to fight the wish to recoil. Although Thrall didn't speak, his fingers twitched reassuringly against her shoulder. She wanted to give him some sign of support in return, but with her back to him she couldn't do so without making it obvious.

All such thoughts fled when the Lich King spoke.

"I suppose well wishes are in order."

The voice was hollow, echoing, and even though it sounded hoarse and rough, it was without a doubt that of Arthas. So familiar that it burned even more. Yet… Jaina frowned, through her tumbling thoughts catching on to something odd. It was not just Arthas' voice that spoke, not if one listened closely. There were two voices, melding and overlapping – like a carefully practiced chorus, but far more chilling as this was not at all something that had been trained. The other one was deeper than Arthas', and she didn't recognize it. It was difficult to tell them apart, too, because of the way they interweaved.

"We want none of that from you," Thrall sharply replied, and Jaina tried to pull herself together. "You've already wasted the Argent Dawn's time. Don't waste ours as well."

"The Dawn's dogs proved to be more slow-witted than I anticipated." The Lich King sounded more bored than anything. "I would have been more direct, but I don't find this important enough to waste that much resources on."

"You seem to find it important enough to make a fool of yourself for," Jaina said. She surprised herself with the sharpness of her tone, free of the trembling she had anticipated.

The blue glow behind the helmet didn't seem to move, and yet she thought she could feel his gaze on her face like the touch of clammy, cold fingers. She steeled her nerves, telling herself that it was only her own imagination.

"If you find this foolish, it's a slight case in compare." The feel of his gaze slithered upwards and away from her. She felt Thrall's fingers twitch against her shoulder, and her breath stuck in her throat. Was it not only her imagination?

"Enough," Thrall said, his voice betraying no unease – only irritation. "Say your piece and be gone."

"As you wish," the armored apparition said, "Warchief."

And then the Lich King spoke Orcish, Arthas' voice receding for the deeper one, yet flowing effortlessly with the other as if the harsh language had been his mother tongue. For a moment everything froze in surprise, all except the Lich King. His armored hand slapped out in a contemptuous motion as his voice rose, growling, mocking. Jaina recognized only a few of the words, snapping up "whelp," "break," "laughable," "history."

Thrall snarled back in the same language, containing his surprise and managing to sound only annoyed. The two of them traded a few sharp sentences, and agitation rose around the room with mutters and growls.

A sudden snarl broke through everyone else's, so loud was it. Drek'Thar stepped forwards, hands clenched to shaking fists, his aged face with its blind eyes turned straight towards the illusion. One single Orcish word left his lips, spat like a curse, then again. All around the orcs straightened up, repeating the word, in disbelief and rising tension.

Thrall's hand tightened on Jaina's shoulder, so much that it hurt. She squirmed, looking up to see his face taking on a pale green hue, then darkening again as his blue eyes narrowed. At her movement he snapped back to reality and quickly eased his grip of her, pain flashing in his gaze as he realized what he had done.

"I apologize. Wait a moment," he murmured, then turned his face towards Drek'Thar and spoke a question in Orcish.

The old shaman nodded, teeth bared as he aimed a huge finger towards the image of the Lich King. Once again he repeated that one word, in a sentence this time. His and the other orcs' snarling had made it almost impossible to make out what exactly they were saying, but this time, Jaina managed to make it out.

Ner'zhul.

She knew she recognized the name, but it took a moment before she remembered it, from tales of orcish history Thrall had shared with her during their early, semi-secret meetings on the butte above Razor Hill. She recalled his dark look and low voice when talking about that first Warchief, of sorts, the orc who began the downwards spiral and sold all of them to the Burning Legion.

Her first thought, that Ner'zhul was presumed dead, seemed quite foolish when she did a double take.

A snort sounded behind the dark helmet, and the Lich King gave a stiff nod in Drek'Thar's direction as he spoke again. The words were in Orcish still, but it was easy enough to understand, from his tone as well.

" _Very perceptive, blind shaman."_

Drek'Thar spat something back, and the Lich King nodded again.

"Ah yes," he said, returning to Common. "I am indeed bound to this human shape now. It has its purposes."

The image of the Lich King turned his focus back towards Thrall and Jaina. When he spoke again, Arthas' voice sounded far stronger than Ner'zhul's.

"How very ironic, young Warchief, that this body," with a metallic clang he put a hand on his armored chest, "has such fond memories of your mate."

Ice raged through Jaina's veins as the Lich King threw her shameful secret into the air, taunting both Thrall and her with her impurity. For a moment all went black, as had he struck her across the face with his frigid glove. She nearly choked, hearing a strangled noise blurt out of her throat before she could help herself. Neither could she stop the recoil, even if it was only half a step.

In retrospect, she should have expected the jab. However, she realized with no little humiliation, somehow she had still clung to some foolish hope that Arthas had a little sense of decency left.

The grip on her shoulder changed, pulling suddenly and sending her stumbling backwards into Thrall's chest.

"Although it seems that her memories are less fond," the Lich King added, cold smirk slithering through his voice and cutting through the deep growl rising between the Warchief's fangs.

Thrall's hand moved from Jaina's shoulder and he reached around her, protectively pulling her even closer. She would have protested, but felt too numb to. The growls all around the room grew deeper, several of the female Kor'kron Elites snarling like wild beasts. The warriors closest to the throne stepped up towards the Warchief and his mate, never taking their furious eyes off the Lich King. They must have known their presence technically did nothing, but the defensive gesture spoke loudly.

Only later did Jaina realize that they misunderstood her reaction to the Lich King's words, because to the orcs it wasn't disgraceful for a woman to have given herself to a man before marriage. Their minds instantly went to far more sinister things than a young couple's careless overstepping of moral boundaries. And because of the orcs' reactions, and Thrall pulling her close, that misunderstanding spread. Jaina had no mind free to notice it, but the men and women of her own escort too stared at her in horrified, mistaken realization.

"Did you," Thrall spoke through his fangs, "actually have anything worthwhile to say?"

"Yes," the Lich King replied. "There was one important thing I wanted to accomplish with this meeting."

A ripple ran down along his cloak, but otherwise, he didn't move at all. It was the only warning he gave.

In the background, the Forsaken mage twisted, a half-strangled cry wrenching out of his throat. Then he went rigid, snapping up straight as if violently pulled between two great hands.

Jaina acted without thinking, crossing her wrists and flicking her hands upwards as her will focused. A blue, glowing wall of pure arcane power flared up in front of her, tall enough to shield Thrall as well. In the same moment, the Lich King threw out his hand.

The air rippled and surged forwards with an unearthly howl, sounding eerily much like a choir of distant, screaming voices. The force of it threw Jaina against Thrall, but he staggered as well under the blow, even with her shield taking the brunt of it. There was nothing to see, but everyone both heard and felt it.

Sylvanas moved one foot back, bracing herself with her red, glowing eyes widening. She handled the surprise well, but then she was not in the direct path of the assault. Even Varimathras let out a grunt, tilting his horned head.

"That shouldn't be possible!" Jaina grit out. Not even with a normal arcane projection, and this was the illusion of an illusion. How much power did he have, to be able to reach through all that?

"I control the entire Scourge with a single thought, Jaina," the Lich King said, and his gloved palm turned towards Thrall's face.

He sounded so much like Arthas then, when he said her name, that her concentration was almost thrown off balance. However, only almost.

"Denying me again, are you?"

She couldn't tell if he truly spoke those words, or if she imagined it. They cut into her resolve, but instead of buckling her determination, they made it flare.

_After all you've done, you_ dare _try to make me feel like I'm the traitor?_

A second blast slammed into the arcane shield and Jaina swayed, but kept her footing and sent all her power into mending the cracks in the defenses. Eyes narrowed, she glared back at the chilling, blue glow behind the helmet.

_I deny you, Arthas._

She focused too much on keeping the wall up to speak, but in her mind she screamed out against what he might have said, against a childish promise made by a young woman blinded by love. What right had he to demand she kept a promise to never deny him anything, when he had broken every vow and principle he'd ever claimed to hold sacred?

_No._ For as long as she could hold him back, she would not allow him this chance to harm Thrall.

Roaring and shouting, orcs, trolls, tauren, Forsaken, blood elves and humans alike rushed forwards towards the rigid mage or the illusion of the Lich King. A sweeping wave of the death knight's hand sent them all flying backwards before they got anywhere close – Jaina's own soldiers crashing in a heap together with several Kor'kron Elites and at least one elf.

However, even if they did not manage to disrupt the attack, they did manage to divert it for a moment. Jaina snapped for air, using every fraction of the precious seconds to strengthen the magical wall. She didn't have time to wonder if she could keep this up until somebody – _if_ somebody – managed to sever the Lich King's link.

Thrall's arm tightened around her body, giving her support as he changed his stance. Above all the shouting it was almost inaudible, but she caught snippets of his voice murmuring harshly in Orcish. More than that, though, she felt his breath brush over the top of her head. He shifted again. Breathless, she dared a brief glance over her shoulder and saw his head bowed, eyes closed beneath knotted brows, lips moving rapidly.

Her gaze swiveled back, catching movement from the Lich King. His hand whipped out again, the force of his will tearing against her defenses in crashing waves. A spider web of cracks flared out across the arcane wall from the impact, and Jaina cried out as she was once more flung back against Thrall's chest. His armor bit into her skin, but somehow she managed not to lose focus. The wall wouldn't hold for much longer. Pain raced through Jaina's very mind, she couldn't think–

"Hold on," Thrall growled.

She wanted to warn him that she couldn't, but her tongue wouldn't obey.

She didn't have to say anything.

"Now!" As he shouted, Thrall's hand shot forwards, momentarily filling Jaina's sight and blocking the Lich King from view.

A bestial, echoing snarl erupted from nowhere, and Jaina felt something soft brush her skirt. With her vision swimming with the effort to not let the shield shatter, at first she thought it was merely a blue light flashing before her eyes. But it moved, bounding forwards in a sideways arch not to rush straight into the torrent of vicious power. She blinked, and her sight cleared to let her see that it was a huge, spectral wolf. She saw it just as it pounced at the Lich King, and she dizzily wondered what Thrall hoped to accomplish with sending a spirit wolf at an illusion.

The image of the Lich King reeled, catching the glowing fangs on his armored arm. The flood that had threatened to crush Jaina's faltering wall snapped – and with it gone, she could not maintain the shield any longer. The blue wall crumbled to nothing, and she would have fallen over if not for Thrall's rigid arm around her middle. The shock, too, helped. Blinking in disbelief she stared as the wolf tossed its head, ethereal jaws clamped over the transparent arm, and the Lich King stumbled. For a moment, the fearful shouting and roars fell dead silent.

Then the lord of the undead punched with his free hand, aiming for the wolf's chest. Thrall hissed, and the beast released the trapped arm to throw itself back out of reach. It crouched, glowing blue lips drawn back from its fangs as it circled its opponent.

Snarling in rage, the Lich King reached into his cloak. A bone-chilling rasp crawled through the air as he drew Frostmourne. Icy runes flared up along the cursed blade. In the background, the Forsaken mage made a gurgling sound and twisted. Beneath Varimathras' hoof, the Scourge mage mimicked his counterpart.

Somebody screamed something in alarm. Jaina didn't understand the Orcish, but the words inflamed the crowd with renewed cries and snarls of shock. Nobody moved forwards this time, however. Some even recoiled.

Her mind was drained, thoughts moving sluggishly. It took a moment for her to piece it all together – the crowd's shock, the mages' reactions, the fact that Thrall's summoned spirit wolf could attack an illusion as if it was solid. Then, she understood what the scream had meant.

_It's not an illusion. He's here._

With a snarl sounding eerily much like Thrall's own voice, the wolf sprang forwards again, avoiding the sweep of Frostmourne and clawing at the front of the Lich King's helmet. At such close quarters, the death knight could not properly use his sword and he drew back, growling.

Jaina's heart tightened in her chest and she looked around, seeing Thrall's face twisted in concentration, his blue eyes staring straight ahead. How much of himself had he poured into that wolf that was now fighting the Lich King's spirit?

"No…" she croaked, clutching at his arm, desperate to give him strength when she herself had none left. "The sword… Go'el– the sword, don't let him cut you!"

For a moment he squeezed her a little tighter, but that was the only answer she got.

The Lich King's arm lashed out as if he was cracking a whip, and power surged through the air once again. Bounding aside the wolf avoided the blow, but the force of the attack smashed a long, inch-deep hole in the floor just where the ethereal paws had been a second earlier. Another lash followed quickly, and all the wolf could do was to dash sideways to duck blow after blow. It forced him to run, looking for an opening as he rushed in a wider circle around the Lich King. The desperate dilemma remained, that he had to stay out of reach for Frostmourne but still close enough to not miss a chance to attack.

"Weak," echoed from behind the death knight's helmet. He slapped his hands downwards.

It looked as if the ground itself roiled, turning a sick, crackling yellow beneath the wolf, and a thick stench of decay rolled through the air. Jaina pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from retching, but she forgot all about that when she heard Thrall grunt in pain. The wolf leapt desperately to get out of the still spreading, cursed area. He landed just by the edge of it and jumped forwards again, but this jump was stiff, catapulted by wounded paws.

It was too much – he crashed gracelessly on his side. A groan and furious cheers at him to get up rose from the crowd. Jaina wanted to scream at them to not just stand there, that there was too much at stake to care about whether or not this should be a one on one battle. But when she tried to speak, only a weak croaking sound made it out. She stared ahead, wondering if she was trapped in a nightmare.

The wolf rolled and scrambled to stand, shaking its head while staggering forwards, to get away before the next assault. It couldn't be quick enough. The moment that the Lich King waved his hand, there was a chilling, clinking sound. From out of nowhere a frosty collar snapped around the wolf's neck, fettering him to the floor by a chain. Thrall choked, one hand flying up to clutch his massive throat. Though he didn't stagger much, it was still noticeable and Jaina stumbled along, uselessly reaching her numb hands towards his face.

Another icy clink sent her gaze flying back, sucking in her breath but only being able to watch as another chain appeared in the Lich King's hand. He threw it forwards and it stretched, catching on to the wolf's fetters. With a rough pull he ripped the shorter chain loose from the floor and the wolf careened forwards. Glowing claws dug into the ground and ethereal jaws tore at the bond, but the Lich King gathered more of the chain in his grip as if the resistance didn't exist. Another pull brought the struggling wolf even closer, with a screech of claws against stone. Frostmourne gleamed viciously as the death knight shifted his grip to raise it.

Many in the crowd were screaming desperately, putting into voice what Jaina could not. It could not be so simple, he was stronger than this, she knew he was–

"I think…" Thrall breathed in harshly, but through the grimace his lips wrenched into a grim smile, "that I'm being underestimated."

And suddenly he straightened, his secure grip of Jaina lifting her. His foot slammed into the floor. The reverberations multiplied, the floor buckling in a rising wave that tore forwards, straight at the battle. In the next moment the ground itself rose up and a gigantic earth elemental launched itself at the Lich King. The death knight spun around and raised Frostmourne, catching the huge stone fist with the blade. However, in doing so he lost focus, and the wolf tore the chain out of his hand.

One of the braziers by the wall flared up, sending several people standing too close stumbling away from it. The flames rushed forwards with a fiery roar, taking shape into a fire elemental as it moved across the floor, burning so hot that its lower half turned pale blue. Unlike its larger earth brother, it headed not for the Lich King but straight towards the wolf, who raised its head. Hands made up of flickering flames closed around the icy white collar. Black smoke rose up from where the fire licked the bond, but within a couple of seconds two broken halves of the collar fell to the floor and shattered along with the chain.

Thrall took in a deep gulp of air while the wolf shook itself. Gingerly the beast took a step forwards, testing its wounded paws. This was cut short when the Lich King sliced through the earth elemental's fist with a swing of Frostmourne. The elemental reeled back while the cut off rock smashed into the floor, but the one of fire attacked instead, dancing this and that way to avoid the sword slashes.

Growling, the wolf bounded around behind the Lich King and snapped at his dark cloak, intent on bringing him off balance. An armored hand lashed out blindly, forcing the wolf to leap back again as the unseen force blasted another channel into the floor. However, ethereal claws were soon ripping at the Lich King's back again.

"I would love to see the results of this one," Varimathras' rumbling, sharp voice suddenly cut in, "but this is making my leg hurt."

And with just a slight tilt of his huge hoof, he crushed the Scourge mage's skull.

"You–!" the Lich King snarled, but his words were cut off as the small magic circle shattered. And with it, the foul link did as well.

The wolf fell forwards and the fire elemental found itself swinging at empty air as their enemy vanished. The image of Sylvanas and Varimathras likewise disappeared.

Violent in its suddenness, the anti-climax left a deafening silence behind. It broke only by the Forsaken mage collapsing in a boneless heap.

A breathy groan left Thrall's lips and he staggered back, then found his footing. As he hunched, Jaina's feet finally touched the ground again, but she hardly noticed as the tension snapped and the floodgates of held back pain crashed open. She swayed, unable to help herself as she pressed both hands to her burning forehead. Her brain felt as if it was boiling, making her grit her teeth desperately. Thrall's hand moved up, cradling the side of her head. Jaina's eyes fluttered shut and she leaned against the touch, but then she remembered where she was and tried to straighten.

Using that kind of spell to shield Thrall and herself had definitely been exceptionally foolish, but she hadn't been able to think of anything else. Teleporting away would have taken an extra second they hadn't had, when she needed to focus enough to bring him away as well.

People were shouting then, again, the sound of that and heavy footfalls cutting like knives right through her head. In the next moment, however, a sweet warmth and soothing cool floated into her, wrapping around the pain and gently subduing it. She blinked and looked up, facing an orc shaman with his face knitted in concentration, hands glowing a soft green. Just behind him stood a troll wearing a pale robe, her fingers enveloped in a calming golden glow.

Behind Jaina, Thrall straightened up and his hand fell away from her face. His arm, however, remained around her body if a bit looser. Jaina was in no mind to feel embarrassed by him embracing her in public. At first, all she listened for was the relieving sound of his breath easing.

"You probably saved both of our lives," Thrall said, softly yet loud enough for the closest people to hear. His voice was hoarse, but it sounded better after he cleared his throat. "I just needed to distract him a little while longer to let the elements gather enough force."

Jaina struggled to stand up straight and managed somewhat after a moment. Reaching out, she grasped the warm metal covering Thrall's thumb in a tight grip.

"Please don't scare me like that again," she rasped.

"I apologize." He bent his head slightly, breathing out. It put his throat in the shadow of his mighty pauldrons, but she still caught sight of skin there, in a darker shade of green than usual – where human skin would have been angry red. She suppressed a shudder, doubting that it was his own clutching his throat that had caused those marks.

A sudden flash of light made her turn her head sharply, but found that it was merely Messenger Ta'sih, carrying Emissary Southstone by his armpits.

"Pardon da surprise, Warchief, mah Lady," the troll said. "Too many people in da way. Paladin." She dropped Thomas to his feet, with the glow of the teleport spell still fading around both of them.

"Ah…" Thomas coughed and straightened with a sheepish look on his face, understandable from the undignified way he had been brought in. "Master Drek'Thar thought it best a paladin or blood knight take a look…"

He trailed off, instead reaching forwards. The awkward expression faded as his lips moved silently, and a light similar to that from the troll priest's hands enveloped his. It melded with the other healing magic already working to completely erase the pain in Jaina's head, and she expected it did the same for Thrall. After a few moments, Thomas breathed out and let his hands fall. He shook his head, smiling weakly.

"I feel nothing. He left no lasting harm as far as I can tell, Warchief, my Lady. But its best some others make sure, as well."

Jaina hadn't even had time to consider that possibility, but even with Thomas' reassuring the mere idea sent a chill down her spine. She looked around at Thrall's face, far more worried about him than for herself. He looked calm, though, if distracted. Instead of meeting her gaze, he straightened his neck and spoke a short command in Orcish.

Hesitantly at first, the crowd shuffled to the side to open up a path. It went quicker when the spirit wolf padded forwards through the aisle of bodies. It walked straight, but gingerly, its paws possibly still hurting. The steps grew more secure the closer it came to Thrall, however, and he straightened up completely. On the other side of the crowd, the two elementals stood side by side, rumbling and hissing peacefully. Waiting.

The wolf walked up the stair, head turning briefly towards Jaina. Thrall reached out his hand, brushing it over the muscular, fur covered side of the spiritual beast. For a moment the ethereal form glowed brightly, then leaped forwards and disappeared into Thrall's chest. He breathed in deeply, briefly tipping his head back.

There was nothing to see, really, no outward sign of it. Rather, Jaina thought she instinctively felt the change back to normal when that part of Thrall returned to him. She shifted closer subconsciously, drawing breath much easier than a moment ago.

He was speaking again, bowing his head in gratitude. A rumble like rocks being smashed together answered him, almost drowning out the loud crackle of flames that rose up in reply as well.

The air remained tense, however, the crowd silent and grim. Jaina saw why only as the fire elemental evaporated, and the earth elemental crumbled to pieces.

Behind them, flanked by several grim, armored Forsaken, stood Lady Sylvanas.


	14. Remembrance

Somebody growled. That was all it took.

Snarls rose from the crowd and guards alike, and the Forsaken tensed, protectively drawing closer to their silent queen. She didn't move, but nobody doubted that she could draw her daggers in the blink of an eye.

"Hold," Thrall sharply said. Then, louder when there were a few stray protests, "hold, I said!"

The tension hung thick in the air even as orcs, trolls, tauren and blood elves stepped back, glaring murder at the undead.

"For your sake, I hope that you are here to explain yourself, Lady Sylvanas," Thrall said, his voice dangerously low in his throat.

The Dark Lady lifted her chin just the slightest bit.

"I found it prudent I come here in person for that, yes," she said in a cold tone. "I assure you that I had no idea that what the Lich King did would be possible."

Somebody snarled in Orcish, clearly an accusation. More followed, judging by the tones doubtlessly mocking and questioning the Forsaken's trustworthiness. Thrall barked out another demand for silence, but even when he was heeded the tension kept sizzling.

Jaina managed to straighten up completely, using Thrall's arm for support. She couldn't believe what she was about to do, but she could not stand by and let there be another fight here – one that would tear apart uneasy but important alliances. Thrall, and the Horde, could not afford it.

"No, do not judge Lady Sylvanas," she said, as loudly as she could. When people looked around at her, many of them scowling with more or less uncertainty, she clarified. "It should have been impossible to attack through two illusions like that."

She was a mage, and everyone knew she was. This was a subject she knew intimately. That, people ought to value, even if her position as the Warchief's mate was too strange yet to lend her much credibility. At least, she hoped so.

Armor clanged as Overlord Saurfang stepped forwards through the tightly packed mass of bodies, people pushing at each other to let him pass. He watched Jaina the entire time, nodding slowly.

"If you are certain, Lady Proudmoore," he grimly said.

She was momentarily taken aback that he took her word for it without question, but looking around she noticed that many, especially the orcs, were watching her with something akin to a new kind of respect. Thrall's hand moved to her shoulder.

"Indeed, I trust your judgment about arcane magic," he said, looking at her first but then turning his attention to the crowd.

At the unspoken command, the people stepped down. Nobody moved too far though, gathered with the distrust that comes with just almost having lost a beloved leader and not willing to leave too much unprotected space around him. They were not convinced, but the tension settled to a sour atmosphere.

This was not enough. There were not enough answers.

Sylvanas' red eyes, momentarily narrowed in suspicion at Jaina, relaxed slowly. Yet she retained that chilling, eternal scowl even as she nodded.

"I must thank you for your support, Lady Proudmoore." The tone was level. "There is however somebody else whom we should speak with."

"I concur," Thrall said, his gaze hardening.

Sylvanas' head snapped around towards the mage standing behind her. A harsh command in Gutterspeak left the Banshee Queen's lips, and the Forsaken man quickly raised his hands. He did not look too thrilled, but obediently murmured a spell.

Between the mage and Sylvanas, the large image of Varimathras formed once again. His bulk seemed even greater than before, as he stretched up high above the heads of the closely gathered Horde warriors.

"Yes, my Lady?" the dreadlord said, his voice maddeningly calm as he gazed down at the much, much smaller woman.

Sylvanas wasted no time.

"You better have an exceptionally good reason for not putting an end to the Lich King's attack sooner," she said.

Varimathras raised both his huge, clawed hands in a pacifying gesture.

"Certainly, my Lady. I know enough of Orcish culture to respect the sanctity of a duel." His lips drew into a wormy smile. "If anything, I would hope that the Warchief can pardon me for killing the mage."

Thrall grunted, but left it at that. The queen of the Forsaken apparently had no intention to let Varimathras off the hook, however.

"You knew that the Lich King was this orc, Ner'zhul, did you not," Sylvanas coldly said. It may have been worded as a question, but she put no such inflection in her voice.

The dreadlord's wings rustled as he shrugged.

"My deepest apologies, my Lady," he said. "I did not see how that information mattered, and so I did not tell you."

Despite his neutral tone and blank face, Jaina held no doubts that he was mentally smirking in glee. The sniveling choice of words only made her, and certainly everyone else as well, more sure of that.

Sylvanas folded her arms.

"I do believe you did full well know that it mattered," she said in a dangerous tone.

"Perhaps, but it would have changed nothing," Varimathras replied, shaking his horned head. "Ner'zhul is no more an orc than any Forsaken is a human or blood elf."

The crowd suddenly parted, and Drek'Thar stepped through, led by a Kor'kron Elite. He started to speak in Orcish, but cut himself off and began again in heavily accented Common. At that point, Jaina was still too shaken to realize that he was probably doing so only for her sake.

"How did he come to be the Lich King?" the old orc demanded.

The illusion spell did not only provide the sound of Varimathras' voice, but also the hard clatter of his long black claws clashing when he rapped his fingertips against each other.

"Ah, I believe that tale will please your apparent hatred for your former Warchief, shaman," he said, "although…" His lips twitched as the gaze from his felgreen eyes roamed over Jaina. She clenched her jaw and forced herself not to look away. "I would be loath to tell it now, when there are ladies listening who might be stricken with nightmares."

"Cease your asinine act," Sylvanas snapped. She added in a dry tone, "but if you are so concerned, then spare all of us the gritty details."

"Very well, Dark Lady." Varimathras shifted his weight, a hint of smugness creeping into his smirk as he spoke again. "After the second war, following the assault by human forces onto Draenor, Ner'zhul gathered his remaining followers to escape through newly constructed Dark Portals. As you probably know, Outland was the result of opening more of them. Unfortunately for Ner'zhul…" he didn't even try to hide his smirk this time, "he didn't make it far until the Burning Legion caught up with him."

And then he continued to explain how Ner'zhul had finally agreed to serve the Legion again, and ended up imprisoned in the frozen throne in Icecrown. True to his instructions Varimathras did not go into detail on the torture that the orc had suffered at the hands of Kil'jaeden – however, his illustrative hand motions sent the imagination reeling and retching.

It was not only the vivid ideas about what Ner'zhul had gone through, it was what the Legion could put _anybody_ through. That tiny, smug narrowing of Varimathras' glowing eyes, that one couldn't quite grasp but just feel the implication of – 'And you troublesome lot are all next.'

"And then, Prince Arthas of Lordaeron began to show such excellent signs of corruption. Things did not, as you know, go accordingly, as Ner'zhul turned out to not remain as submissive as just after Kil'jaeden was done with him. He sought an alliance with the Prince for his own sake."

Somewhere deep down, Jaina desperately hoped for some hint from Varimathras that Arthas had been unwittingly corrupted by demons, rather than having fallen so far by his own will. But there was none of that. Varimathras made it sound as if the Legion, too, had been surprised by Arthas' downwards spiral. That vain hope could only flicker and cling to a wish that the dreadlord was not telling the whole truth.

When she turned it over in her head, however, she felt sick at herself for even being able to still hope for anything when it came to Arthas. He didn't deserve it from her. Sudden rage made her hands clench on Thrall's arm.

No. Arthas didn't deserve a scrap of warm feeling or hope. He had wounded Thrall right in front of her, tried to kill both him and her, and that was yet another thing she could never forgive Arthas for.

"I assume that what Prince Arthas and Ner'zhul are trying to do is to meld their souls together in order to combine their powers, but the process is still incomplete." Varimathras tapped his pale cheek with a pitch black claw. "Presumably, their individual willpower won't give up autonomy without a fight. Still…"

He tilted his head, studying Thrall. The Warchief glared back.

"It would seem that the Lich King's personas could agree on a sense of petty jealousy, albeit for different reasons."

Jaina's grip changed, fingers clamping down on Thrall's gauntlet unconsciously. He was scowling, working his jaw for some kind of reply to that strange statement of Varimathras'. It was only a split second, hardly noticeable, as Sylvanas spoke up before Thrall managed to formulate a comment.

"Good," the Banshee Queen said, an edge of smug hatred in her voice even though her face remained impassive. "If he can still be petty, then he still has weaknesses that can prove fatal to him."

Sylvanas assessment came across as far more positive to Jaina than her own. But she was still not over this. It would take some time for her to gather her wits and look at all that had happened with a level eye, before she could analyze all the nuances and implications. Right then, all she could see were the large issues – that Arthas had been there, that he truly was the Lich King, but that the Lich King also was an orc, and that Thrall had fought him and lived. All those things, even when standing alone, seemed overwhelming.

She glanced at Thrall, and his gaze met hers for the briefest moment before both of them looked ahead again. More than that fleeting second, and Jaina feared that her raw confusion and lingering fear would have broken free to blaze in her eyes. She could not allow that in front of all these people. Definitely not in front of Varimathras.

She wished that she and Thrall were alone.

"If that is all, then you may leave, Lady Sylvanas," Thrall said, his voice controlled. "I will not hold you responsible for what happened."

"Thank you, Warchief," Sylvanas replied, inclining her head slightly. She did not sound as if she cared much either way, however, but one might assume that what she said was honest. Looking around, she spoke a command to her escort.

The mage lowered his hands, dissolving the illusion of Varimathras. Though the dreadlord's face was fairly neutral, Jaina suspected that he would be grinning wide in glee as soon as he was sure nobody in the throne hall saw him.

In the background, one of the Forsaken soldiers went about gathering the remains of the first unlucky mage, who had displayed the image of and unwittingly acted as a link for the Lich King. There was a clatter of bones falling apart and splats of rotten flesh slapping together, mercifully brief as the soldier wrapped it all up in the mage's own cloak.

Sylvanas nodded once more, and the still animated mage raised both hands. In a flash of light the Forsaken disappeared, and all the glares that had been aimed their way no longer had a target. The mistrust, on the other hand, would without a doubt remain.

If Thrall was relieved to see them gone, he did not show it. Waving his hand and speaking Orcish, he commanded the crowd to move back.

Thomas too stepped back, but then remained beneath the stair awkwardly, Ta'sih hovering behind him, as Jaina nodded at him that she wanted him to stay. It had the desired effect that the other men and women from Theramore, seeing that, moved closer as well. They kept exchanging glances with each other.

Just thinking about leaving made Jaina's stomach turn into a knot, but the thought of staying, under the dark, upset gazes of all the people in the throne room, was unbearable. Her head swam. She needed to breathe, needed to think to be able to deal with everything that had happened.

She needed to speak with Thrall, just the two of them, so that they could sort this out together. But that couldn't be now, it could not be soon. Theramore did not know anything about what had happened here, but all of Orgrimmar would within the hour. Would know that the Lich King was half orc. Light, what would the people of the Alliance say when they inevitably found out? Already there were people hurrying out of the hall, to spread the news.

It was unavoidable, and facing his people about it was something Thrall would have to do. It could not wait.

Looking up she met his gaze again. There were no undead or demons watching now, and he allowed a flash of pain to pass in his eyes. It was almost enough to make Jaina crumble.

"You are shaken," she murmured, uselessly.

His arm brushed against her, reminding her that through all of this, he had held her. She still could not bother to be embarrassed by that. It only hurt because it was too little comfort for either of them.

"So are you," he replied in a low voice.

"I'm only one person," Jaina said, trying to steel herself with that fact. "All your people will be shocked."

He grimly nodded, but his gaze lingered on her.

"What about what he said about you and Arthas' body?" he said in a low voice.

Jaina felt all blood drain from her face. That thought had drowned in the horror that had followed Arthas' blunt, cruel revelation. Thrall's grip of her tightened just a breath. Swallowing hard, she tried to pull herself together.

"I will," she took in a breath, "start with telling Tandred."

Yes. One thing at a time. They could face this. They had gone through far more turbulent, violent things. She tried to hold on to that.

Reluctantly, she started to move away. He didn't try to stop her from doing so.

"Keep the rune close," he murmured. "I will let you know the second I have a free moment."

She nodded with as much determination she could gather, and as much relief as she could manage to feel at that promise. Giving her a brief, weak smile in an obvious attempt to strengthen her, Thrall nodded back. Then he raised his gaze.

"Messenger, provide a portal to Theramore for my mate and her escort," he said.

"Ya, Warchief. Right away," Ta'sih said. She raised her blue, three-fingered hands, which started to glow as she closed her eyes and began to chant in a low voice.

Jaina wouldn't admit it and tried not to let it show, how grateful she was for the gesture. She certainly would not have trusted herself to teleport herself and all the people who had followed her anywhere, not with how drained she felt. It probably showed no matter how much she tried to look strong, judging from the empathic looks from her guards as well as Thomas and his two companions.

A glimmering hole appeared in the air before the troll mage, through which Jaina could see the wide stairs and the gate of the Theramore citadel. She would have preferred to step out just to fall on top of her own bed, but there were magical wards to keep portals not of her own making from opening in her chambers. Not to mention that it would have been very inappropriate, since other people would take the same route.

With an inner sigh she stepped out of Thrall's reach and down the stair from his throne. She glanced over her shoulder and tried to give him a smile back while her escort moved up around her. The attempt was weak.

They moved forwards, enveloped in the tingling, briefly dizzying feel of the portal's magic. The warm shadows of the throne room and smell of sand was replaced with cloud-veiled sunlight and a combination of salt and murk from the ocean and swamp as they stepped through the gate. The soles of Jaina's shoes met cobblestones instead of solid rock.

With a twinkling sound, the portal closed behind the last soldier stepping through.

Jaina's first thought when gazing up the stair was whether she would even make it to her room. But then she squared her shoulders and continued to walk, setting her focus on just getting there. Then, she could try to properly catch her breath and call for Tandred and Aegwynn. Not to mention call for a lot of water to drink, she realized when she had to clear her dry throat to speak.

Looking around at the armored men and women surrounding her, she tried to look grim and determined.

"Do not speak a word about anything you heard or saw in there, not with anybody, do you understand?" she said, her voice hoarse from draught.

"Yes, Lady Proudmoore."

She hoped that it would give her some time to figure out what to do, before the temptation to tell people grew too strong amongst her guards. Rumors would be flying wild sooner or later – but the later, the better.

* * *

Thrall hardly had time to order Vol'jin, Saurfang and Drek'Thar to the council chamber before Drek'Thar came forwards on his own volition, barking for healers to make absolutely certain that the Warchief was well. Priests, shamans, druids and blood knights almost fell over each other to obey.

For the next few minutes Thrall watched the world through a glowing haze of healing magic. Eventually he had to order them to cease, as he started feeling dizzy from a teetering overload of magic sent through his body. But once it receded he felt refreshed, and also relieved – along with everyone else – as the word of the healers was that there was nothing to worry about.

In the background, other people began to organize a cleanup of the throne hall. The floor was damaged, both scarred and corroded by the Lich King's attacks, as well as torn up after the earth elemental's entrance. The latter had also left rocks and boulders behind. The fire elemental had not only burnt the floor but also ruined a few pelts on its way to help the spirit wolf.

As Thrall and his advisors began to move towards the council chamber, Garrosh followed them unbidden. The Warchief wasn't in the mood to argue with him about that.

The heavy door closed behind all of them, finally granting at least some of them the freedom to openly show their frustration.

"When the Alliance finds out about this, they'll go ahead and blame the Scourge on us orcs as well!" Saurfang snarled and slammed his fist so hard into the wall that dust fluttered down from the ceiling. "We all know they won't care that the Legion are the ones behind it. They never cared about that before."

Thrall wished that he could have allowed himself the same violent display to release some of his rage, but he knew he had to appear calm – to at least give an impression of having everything under control. Yet everything he and Jaina had worked for now seemed to crumble to ashes right before his eyes, just because of this piece of news. That skirmish in Warsong Gulch was nothing in compare to this.

Everyone had just believed that some demonic entity had been puppeteering the undead throngs before Prince Arthas took over – to find out that there had been an orc, or an orc spirit, leading them was something completely different.

More than anything though, throughout all these pained thoughts, he wanted Jaina back within reach. Even if the first healers had concluded that she was well physically, he'd have to be blind not to see how shaken she had been about what happened. Things would be easier to bear for both of them, easier to sort out, if they could talk about this as best they could – but she flitted back to Theramore, that hunted look in her eyes burning in his memory.

"An' dat our alliance with da Forsaken jus' proves dat," Vol'jin darkly said from his cross-legged seat on the floor, in reply to Saurfang's outburst. Every muscle beneath his blue fur seemed to be as tense as a bowstring, and he glared murder at the ground a few steps in front of him.

"It suits Ner'zhul," Drek'Thar bitterly commented, shaking his head as he clenched his fists. "To damn us again and again. Perhaps he believed that he had lost his touch, when he worked his corruption on humans and elves for a while."

Drawing in a deep breath, Thrall pressed a hand to his forehead and tried to think. Tried to listen to any guidance the spirits could give him, or draw some strength from the fact that he had managed to hold his own against the Lich King. But the situation, the revelations gave him no rest – too much, the guiding force behind the Scourge, the attack. The oncoming outrage of his people, festering with fury and pain. He wondered what his grandmother would feel when she found out that the hated first warlock was still active, and still seeking to bring ruin.

Orcs had done nothing but bring pain upon Azeroth, a self-loathing voice said from deep inside of him.

Yet he knew it was the Legion, always the Burning Legion in the end. And speaking of which, Varimathras' brief but expressive description of Ner'zhul's torment had certainly not done any favors for anybody's peace of mind. Thrall would not allow himself to be intimidated by the dreadlord and the silent promise of what awaited all of them if the Legion ever won, but it was difficult to shake off the cold feeling grappling for his heart.

Azeroth's only chance of fending off the demon armies were for Alliance and Horde to keep their priorities straight. There had been such promise of lasting cease fire on Kalimdor just yesterday, but now? With such an argument to sway anybody unsure of whether to trust the Horde for long enough to at least fight off the demons?

And then, where did that put Jaina and Theramore?

"Then what are you going to do about it?" a new voice snarled.

Thrall looked up.

Arms crossed, Garrosh glared at him and all the others in the room.

"You fought back these undead before," the one brown-skinned orc said. "Then what is the problem? If you all think you have to prove yourselves to our enemies, then do so again!"

"Our forces are already spread too thin in Outland," Thrall said, more automatically than anything else. Despite the fact that he tried to dissuade thinking violence was the solution to everything, he could see the logic in it here. However, there would be no way a war expedition to Northrend could be undertaken now, not until Outland was secured. If that would ever happen, or if troop movement would be forced whenever the Scourge made its move…

Garrosh opened his mouth again, then paused and finally growled.

"True," he grunted. Scowling, he looked between them all again. "But why are you taking on all the blame?" The note of pure annoyance settled in his voice, turning grim as he went on. "Ner'zhul is not the only one in this. I don't know that human, but he did not seem to know any more honor–" his eyes narrowed and he glanced away for a moment, "judging by how your mate reacted, Warchief."

"Indeed," Thrall said, but his voice was distracted as he thought. It was true that Prince Arthas had no claim to honor. His list of crimes included murdering his own people, his own men and his own father – but Garrosh seemed to believe that Jaina had been–

Oh.

Thrall was about to correct the young Hellscream on his misunderstanding of why Jaina had reacted like that to Arthas' revelation about their relationship. In the last moment, however, the Warchief bit it back when his cold tactical side rose up, pointing out a new chess piece.

People had long thought the Lich King only human. Finding out he was also an orc would make many self-righteously scream that all orcs were evil. It would not be beneficial to take away one possible crime from that human side, even when there were already so many.

But, he was thinking about Alliance business now, they all were. And that business was not something that he could properly deal with, not without a little bit of help. He straightened up.

"We will reach no conclusion like this," he said. "For now, it is best I speak to the people of Orgrimmar. They need to receive some clarity of what took place here."

His voice came out with a rising note of confidence, and that reflected as somewhat surprised, careful hope in his advisors' expressions.

"And while I do that, send somebody to find Messenger Ta'sih again," he added as he walked towards the door.

He didn't aim that order to anybody in particular. He only wanted it done.

"Yes, Warchief," a few voices said behind him. He wasn't quite sure if Garrosh was among them.

* * *

Once Jaina was alone in her chambers with a jug of water and a glass, it took all of her remaining willpower to not grab the jug and drink straight from it. Her hands shook when she poured water into the glass instead, then almost dropped the jug in her haste to take the smaller container. She emptied it in deep, convulsive gulps.

She was halfway through the third refill when there was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Jaina called, after swallowing hard.

While the door opened, she quickly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Lord Admiral Tandred Proudmoore and chamberlain Aegwynn have arrived, my Lady," one of the guards outside announced.

"Let them in."

The guard bowed his head and stepped back to let Tandred and Aegwynn through. Once they were well inside, he closed the door behind them.

Jaina nodded in greeting while raising the glass once again and emptying it in a far more collected way than earlier. She couldn't bring herself to produce even a small smile, and looking at Aegwynn's pursed mouth, and Tandred's hard expression, she saw that they only expected bad news.

"I hope that Lady Sylvanas was not uncouth," Tandred said before Jaina could finish her still much needed drink.

It made her blink. Then she remembered that she had only been called because Sylvanas had wanted to speak with both Thrall and her. Shaking her head, she carefully set the glass down on the small table beside the jug.

"No," she said, grasping for how she could reveal this somewhat gently. She found no softening words. "She merely relayed a message. In the end, the situation forced us to accept a demand from the Lich King to speak with us."

Aegwynn's eyebrows shot upwards, her eyes widening. It was the first time Jaina could recall seeing even that much of a reaction from the old sorceress. Tandred was more expressive. His mouth fell open, the color draining from his face.

"Through an illusion, although… there's so much," Jaina finished, trailing off and suddenly feeling exhausted. How could she tell even those who were so dear to her about all the shocking events? But it was not the recollection of the violence that made her balk.

"Jaina," Tandred croaked. He took in a deep breath, his fists clenching. Though still obviously shocked, he made a grand effort to pull himself together.

Jaina clenched her teeth, knowing that she would have to deliver another shock.

"Tandred, sit down," she said in as much a stern voice as she could manage. "Aegwynn, please keep a watch out for spies."

But Tandred did not sit down. While Aegwynn grimly nodded and closed her eyes to cast her will about, making sure that nobody was hiding within hearing range, Tandred grasped Jaina's hands.

"You're as cold as ice," he said, speaking softly although the worry was apparent in his voice and eyes alike. Reaching out, he brushed Jaina's cheek. "I've never seen you so pale. To see him…?" His voice became a growl.

Jaina felt as if her knees would give away. Heavily she sat down in an armchair, and instead of taking a seat Tandred hunched down on one knee, holding both her hands in his again.

"Jaina?" he said, staring at her with confusion and worry.

"It was shocking to see the Lich King, yes." She cleared her throat, but it did not seem to do anything. "There are… many things that happened, that…"

She took in a deep breath and started in another end, to give herself some more time to pull herself together.

"The Lich King is not only Arthas' alone," she said, and Tandred's eyebrows shot upwards. "There is also the spirit of a dead orc named Ner'zhul. Both of them spoke to us in Thrall's throne hall."

"But… what?" Tandred started, falling silent with a confused scowl on his face.

"Ner'zhul," Aegwynn repeated with a maddeningly calm voice. "Medivh mentioned him, I recall. From that, I believed that he had lost all power and favor in face of the Legion."

"Possibly, as it went according to–" Jaina cut herself off and shook her head.

No. If she started to tell them what Varimathras had said, she would have to explain all of that and deal with Tandred's reaction to her being spoken to by a dreadlord. It would only be prolonging her own dread, of getting to the part of the dialogue that had hurt her the most.

"A lot of things happened, and I'll tell you all about them, but one thing he revealed–" she paused, rubbing her cheek furiously. She wet her lips, forcing herself to look Tandred in the eye for a second before looking away.

His hands squeezed hers.

"Jaina, tell me what's wrong, you're killing me," he hoarsely said.

She could not bear to look at him again.

"I did something very stupid once," she murmured. "Back when Arthas courted me–"

Tandred's sharp intake of breath snapped her sentence in half and she clenched her hands, fingers numbing but desperately trying to hold on to his, imploring him not to withdraw.

"I was a girl in love," she bitterly said, "and I know shouldn't have–"

"Jaina, stop." Tandred's arms were around her suddenly, giving her a soothing squeeze. She fell silent, looking at him uncertainly. His voice sounded a little tight, but he spoke with as much calm as he could gather. "I'm not going to judge you, I saw the two of you, how much…" He trailed off.

For a moment, she allowed herself to lean the side of her head against his, hugging him back and closing her eyes in mute gratitude. Aegwynn watched without a word, but a small smile touched her lips.

Eventually, though, Jaina straightened up.

"Even if you forgive me," she started and he weakly shook his head as if there was nothing to forgive, when they both knew that this was no light matter, "others will find out. Even should all of my guards manage to hold their tongues, all the others that were there– it will reach the goblins eventually, and they will tell it to people of the Alliance."

Tandred clenched his teeth, as Jaina took in a deep breath and went on, voice hardening.

"There are those who already call me orc whore, and you can't rip off all their heads. They will only gain force with this."

And then there would be a smug outcry from her political enemies, high and low, feasting on this delicious piece of news. It would bolster their voices, demanding to know if such an immoral woman, such a thoughtless harlot, could possibly be fit to rule. No, no…

"Claim that he forced you," Aegwynn said, a tone of cruel practicality in her voice. "Everyone knows what became of him. Stories of his ruthlessness from earlier years are already flourishing, true or no. Who would blame you then?"

Jaina squared her jaw. Scowling, opening and closing his fists uselessly, Tandred stepped back to give her some breathing space.

"It's a solution, but how?" she said, "how could I make such a declaration? Hold a speech in front of the city?"

The mere idea made her sick to her stomach.

It was not the lie that made her cringe, not only. The memory of loving caresses and sweet kisses hurt like an open wound, more than ever, but at the same time there was rage at his betrayal – not only of her, but of everything. Yet the mere thought of throwing herself out into the judgment of Theramore, of all of Azeroth, for pity… no longer a politician or a sorceress, but reducing herself to a plain, vulnerable woman, leaving herself exposed.

Naked, for all to see.

Not only that, but lying to everyone was a dangerous, slippery slope even if it was for a good cause.

"How?" she asked again, sharper as she looked up. Tandred avoided her gaze, staring at the wall while furiously pulling his beard.

Aegwynn opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again as her eyes swiveled to the side. Instinctual fear blossomed up in Jaina's ragged mind – had the old sorceress sensed a spy after all?

However, Aegwynn's expression softened and her mouth quirked in a familiar, wry smile. Still looking towards the wall to the right of the door, she spoke.

"I do believe your husband has come to pay us a visit, Jaina."

Tandred snapped up straight, and Jaina herself blinked. She was half out of her chair when there was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" she called.

The same guard as before opened the door, looking rather pale.

"My Lady, your– the– His–" he staggered over the words, unable to deal with what was outside in the corridor with him.

Emissary Southstone gently pulled him aside.

"Warchief Thrall wishes to see you, my Lady," Thomas said in a perfectly collected voice.

"Then let him in, of course," Jaina said.

Thomas bowed out of sight, and Thrall's massive form filled the doorway as he stepped through. He grunted a command in Orcish over his shoulder, and before the door closed Jaina caught a flash of two Kor'kron Elites, and Messenger Ta'sih, standing outside.

From the corner of her eye she saw Tandred stiffen, probably as much because of the Warchief's presence as the snarl on his face. However, Jaina knew Thrall well enough to tell that it was a look of concern, not anger. It softened as she met him halfway across the floor, laying her hands in one of his. The other huge, armored hand went to her shoulder.

She did not feel anything like instantly safe in his presence, but it was a relief to see him again. To leave so suddenly as she had, had been a mistake. That seemed so obvious now, when she had managed to gather some of her wits again.

"Has something else happened?" she asked, skipping right past the verbal greetings.

She seemed to be asking questions like that so very, very often lately. Thrall pursed his mouth, pushing his lips against the two large protruding tusks.

"The shockwaves are still moving through Orgrimmar and they are heading towards Nagrand even as we speak," he said, shaking his head. "I have addressed my people about Ner'zhul. Most are screaming to head to Northrend, swimming if they must, to twist his new head off." He lifted his hand from her shoulder and rubbed his forehead. "It may not have been wise of me to come here right now, but you know what this means as much as I do. Ner'zhul is a pariah to us, however, my advisors and I are all aware of how many others will take these news. The Alliance will undoubtedly blame all orcs for Prince Arthas' fall and the Scourge."

A lump of ice had steadily formed in Jaina's stomach, but she nodded with determination. It was an issue she had tried not to think about before she could deal with telling Tandred the truth. That Thrall made her face it now, though, meant only that she did not have to consider it on her own.

"We must decide how to address the Alliance, and quickly," she agreed.

The news would spread, and only grow more inflammatory if Thrall and she remained silent for too long.

"I believe we fell in a trap," Thrall said with a sigh. "He obviously wanted to create an uproar to destabilize us."

"True…"

She wanted to lean close to him, and felt his gloved fingers brushing her shoulder and hands. Still he remained still out of respect for what was proper behavior here, as did she. They were not alone, and reminded of that she looked around. Aegwynn nodded slowly, smiling the same smile, while Tandred looked torn. As he met Jaina's gaze however, her brother took in a deep breath.

"Very true, Warchief," he said, keeping his voice steady. "People will be screaming for blood. The best we can do is try to aim their rage in the right direction."

"Indeed, Admiral," Thrall said. He shook his head. "Your people hate Prince Arthas, and my people hate Ner'zhul. It should, at least theoretically, be possible to join against a common enemy. We did it before."

Jaina met his gaze, and for at least a moment hope fluttered stronger than all her concerns. Thrall's thumb stroke the back of her hand.

Yes, they had done that before.

Even so, that had been a demon leading a swarm of undead. There had been no doubt that it was something that everyone could hate and fear – and even then there had been severe reluctance.

"Warchief…" Tandred paused, hesitated and then squared his jaw. "I don't know your peoples' history. Who is Ner'zhul?"

Had the situation been kinder on all of them, Jaina's soul would have soared. Tandred was still on his guard, but the fact that he approached Thrall, that he asked about the background instead of jumping to conclusions, it promised things she had never dared to believe.

"It was before I was even born, Admiral," Thrall replied, "and it's a long story. To make it short…"

He briefly recounted the story of how the orc tribes were poisoned by the bond Ner'zhul forged with Kil'jaeden, that downwards spiral which was then led onwards by Gul'dan. From there Thrall leapt forwards to where the demons left the orcs to waste away after their defeat, with no rage to burn within and carry them, and no spirits to guide them in how to heal the wounds in their souls. Jaina stepped in to add little things only towards that end, when she realized that Thrall would not say much about his own part in the eventual healing process. His humility made her smile at him with the warmth swelling in her chest, but she still felt he deserved more recognition than he was prepared to give himself.

He smiled back, faintly and with a tint of amusement at her insistence that his role in the story be revealed.

Together, they then recounted what had happened when the Lich King spoke to them and attacked. At the end of that, Aegwynn stood silent in thought, and Tandred paced back and forth, obviously trying to digest everything. Still, it was a wonder in itself that he was either distraught enough by it all, or by now used enough to Thrall's presence, to actually do something like that in front of the Warchief.

Thrall looked at Jaina, and his fangs showed in a grim smile.

"There was one good thing, though, indirectly," he said. "Just before I left Orgrimmar, my spies let me know that Neeru Fireblade and several of the higher warlocks in the Cleft were practically going to pieces. Ner'zhul had no power within the Shadow Council as far as I know, but he was still an important figure to them. This piece of news will hopefully cause confusion amongst their numbers."

"That's good news," Jaina said, nodding at him. At least, it would be one thing they might not have to worry so much about for a while. She relaxed enough smile a little again. "And you did manage to rattle the Lich King as well."

"Barely," he said, and Jaina – unfortunately – had to silently accept that this was not merely humility. But then he smiled softer. "But, also, you defended me. Everyone there saw you falter at his words, and then you still fought by my side. That means more than you might realize."

Jaina recalled the way that the people in the throne room had looked at her when she spoke up in Sylvanas' defense. She had not thought about it, not with everything else that had been going on, but now that Thrall spoke of it she turned it over in her head. She had not felt brave, but it must have been seen as that. The orcs were warriors. What she had done was to rally courage to stand and fight beside her mate, even when she had been obviously thrown off balance.

Thrall's smile faded.

"However, the question remains how to deal with the Alliance side of this issue," he said.

That fact sent an icy hand crawling down Jaina's spine. But it was true – and there were things they could use to draw attention away from the Lich King originally being only an orc spirit.

"We…" She forced herself not to glance at Aegwynn and Tandred, and cleared her throat. "I won't allow people to think that this is all the orcs' fault," she started again, steeling herself. "The Legion are behind it, and Arthas is certainly a large part of it now–"

From the other side of the door there was a sudden, muffled sound of metallic clanging, and scuffling. Voices too, rising quickly until they shouted loud enough to be heard into the room. Jaina and the others all spun towards the escalating sound of arguing.

"We won't stand down when your Warchief has forced himself on our Lady Proudmoore!"

"How dare you, you pink little worm!"

Tandred made it to the door first, and ripped it open.

"What's going on out here?" he demanded, voice nearly drowning in Thrall's growl of the same.

Jaina caught sight of one of her guards and a female Kor'kron Elite snarling at each other, he held back by his own companion and Thomas, she held back by the male Elite. In the next moment Ta'sih stepped in between, throwing out her glowing hands at both of the antagonists. At her rough command, the light leapt from her and straight into the two fighters' chests. Both of them choked, grasping their throats as they coughed. But the silencing spell instantly stopped the argument.

The shock of that gave everyone in the corridor a chance to notice that the door was open and that they were getting glares. The female Kor'kron turned away from Thrall's stern look, her movements tense with rage and her fists opening and clenching. After a moment, the Theramore guard took a step back.

Rather awkwardly, those who had gotten in between the fight backed off too, glancing between the fighters and the people in the door.

Jaina barely noticed it, and later it would make her lips twitch – right then she only vaguely registered Thomas' mumble.

"Thank you for your help, Lady Ta'sih," he said, glancing up at the troll mage.

Ta'sih raised her furry eyebrows at the title. Then she smiled, although a little stiffly still. At that point however, Thomas had already looked away, running a hand through his hair. He didn't see the way she studied him.

The air hung tense between and within the three groups. Somebody had to place or take the blame.

In the end it was Tandred who acted first, crossing his arms and taking in a deep breath.

"It warms my heart that you would defend my sister's honor," he said, "but I must ask you to not speak that way about my brother-in-law."

For a moment, Jaina was certain that she must have misheard. But if she had, then everyone else must have heard wrong too, judging by the expressions on the others' faces. Even Thrall looked taken aback.

The Warchief caught himself quickly, though, and turned to his guards.

"For the sake of avoiding this kind of thing, you two should return to Orgrimmar," he said. "I will return shortly."

"Warchief–" the male Kor'kron started, hesitantly. He fell silent under Thrall's even gaze.

"I doubt that there is anything here that could harm me," Thrall said.

The female Kor'kron turned her head briefly towards him, then quickly away again. She did not attempt to speak again. The muting spell could still in effect, but her silence weighed heavier than that.

Thrall nodded to Ta'sih, who caught the hint and raised her hands to summon another portal. As it shimmered into existence, the two Kor'krons stepped towards it, their armor clanging and clattering.

Satisfied with that, Tandred started to close the door. Just before it shut, the offending Theramore guard muttered a hasty, stuttered apology in a hoarse voice. It went unanswered but for a nod from Tandred.

He let go of the door and turned around to face the other three in the room.

"Let's… let's not talk about what I said," Tandred said, his voice probably as calm as he could make it. He glanced at Jaina, then away and back again when her shock finally let up enough to allow her a faint, but warm and grateful smile.

"As you wish, Admiral," Thrall tactfully said.

"Thank you." Tandred turned around fully and decisively returned them all to the more important subject at hand. "What were you saying when we were interrupted, Jaina?"

She turned serious, as did Thrall and Aegwynn.

"Yes. Now…" Jaina took in a deep breath. "Everyone there heard what he said about Arthas and me," she said. "The way I reacted, too…" She had to pause to subdue her own unease, watching Thrall slowly nod understanding. "He gave us an argumentative weapon to use. I don't really want to lie about what happened in the past, but if we add a new shock about Arthas to the news about Ner'zhul…" She looked at Aegwynn. "Like you said before, the view of him as a hero is already broken. And so, if I claim that he was never so noble as people thought, it will be hard for anybody to claim that he was simply corrupted by an orc."

"Both a corrupt orc and a human, indeed," Thrall said. As Jaina nodded, he thoughtfully looked at her. "You can claim that Arthas hurt you, and the people who were in Grommash Hold will doubtlessly believe it. But how would you make that known?"

"I will have to, somehow…" she trailed off, rubbing her temple.

Her mouth ran dry at the thought of standing there, looking down at the people of Theramore and ask them for their sympathy, for a horrible fate she had not suffered. She briefly wondered if it would have felt better or worse if it had been actually true. Then she felt foolish for even considering that, when it only could have been far, far worse.

"No," Aegwynn said. She got the others' attention immediately, and smiled as she took one of Jaina's cold hands between her old, wrinkled ones. "It's not a disgraced woman's duty to reveal her agony. That will only create pity, and we want outrage."

She smiled a bit wider.

"That duty falls upon those who should defend the disgraced woman's honor."

* * *

The cloud-veiled sunlight of the late afternoon didn't warm Theramore much, but the wind carried from the ocean was not chilly. The people gathered before the citadel didn't need to worry about freezing. It was probably the last thing on their minds anyway. It had been a sudden call by the town criers to come to the citadel, but the abruptness also held a spicy note of something important happening. Rumors were already spreading about Lady Proudmoore having been asked to speak with Lady Sylvanas. The people had already been gravelly shocked a few days ago at the unexpected wedding. What might it be this time? Nobody seemed to know either, neither town criers nor city guards had been able to share any information no matter how many times they were asked.

The air was abuzz with excitement, tinged with both worry and burning curiosity.

"Citizens."

The voice snapped off all ongoing, whispered or loud conversations as all eyes turned towards the balcony high above the ground. Up there, an armored man flanked by two Theramore guards stepped forwards so that everyone below should be able to see him. Many a new, curious whisper started when people took in his blond hair and the green and golden Kul Tiras tabard he wore.

"For those of you who do not know me, I am Lord Admiral Tandred Proudmoore, brother of Lady Jaina Proudmoore." Just like during the sudden wedding ceremony a few days ago and Jaina's speech to the people of Theramore afterwards, a spell amplified Tandred's voice to make him audible to everyone below.

He looked and sounded admirably calm, considering the task set before him.

"There are things that my sister feels you need to be made aware of. The reason that I am addressing you in her stead, is that she suffered such a heavy blow today that she is unable to do this herself."

The curious air was instantly snuffed out. A fearful murmur rose as the audience stared up at Tandred.

"She is well, physically," Tandred hurriedly continued. "It was not that kind of blow. Today, my sister and her husband were forced to face the Lich King, through a magical link." The last few words were almost drowned out in the gasps and outcries of shock from below. Tandred continued, a bit louder. "Though he attempted to attack them, they both fought back until his link was broken. However, two things were revealed during this. The first one is that the Lich King is former Prince Arthas of Lordaeron, combined with a second spirit. The other thing–"

He grasped the stone railing of the balcony with one hand, his entire body tense. The new wave of murmurs, born from the mention of Prince Arthas, settled somewhat. Breathless. Anxious.

"The Lich King sought to bring my sister off balance," Tandred started again through clenched teeth. "To accomplish this, he revealed the most heinous thing, a painful secret she has borne silently for years. For her sake it should have remained that way, but Prince Arthas saw fit to revel in his crime, in front of my sister's husband and everyone else who was there."

The murmur was rising again, with a mix of confusion and fearful outrage. Some did not yet understand, and some did but didn't want to believe that their Lady Proudmoore could have been treated so horrifically.

"I know now that Prince Arthas," Tandred said, his voice icy and hard, "was no better than a drunkard felon, with no respect for a Lady's virtue."

He had prepared them well. The crowd near exploded.

There were cries, and shouts, and roars of fury, not only from the civilians but also from the shocked city guards, none of which had known either. The same noises came from inside the citadel too, from the open windows where more guards, as well as servants, messengers, ambassadors and many others were also listening.

Tandred let it go on for a few seconds before he raised his hand.

"Order! There is more," he called.

He had to repeat himself more than once, in a rising voice, before he was heeded. Even then, it took a while longer before the rage began to settle to where the seething people seemed prepared to hear anything else.

"That was only part of what was made known earlier today," Tandred said. He made a motion to his right and then moved sideways as if to make room. He sounded calm again, though that was surely thanks to him mentally preparing himself for saying this. "The rest of it, you should hear from my sister's husband."

A hush fell over the unruly crowd, jaws falling open at the sight of the bulky creature stepping up beside Admiral Proudmoore. His heavy footsteps seemed to ring through the air, with or without the sound enhancing spell.

"Citizens of Theramore."

Warchief Thrall paused, and the silence stretched as before their eyes, he worked his jaw.

"I would have wanted to speak to you of better things, the first time I stood here. Yet our enemies did not allow that. Seeing the Lich King himself was shocking enough, but what he revealed just to torture…" He fell silent, and his huge right hand rose, clenching into a fist. As he continued, his voice fell to a growl. "I am too furious to say anything invigorating to you all. Only this. I swear that he will pay dearly, along with the filthy second half of the Lich King."

People were exchanging glances and whispering amongst themselves again. But they listened when Thrall continued.

"I will admit I knew about it, because just a few days ago Lady Proudmoore told me the truth herself, in the strictest of confidences." He softened his tone towards the end, to imply that she had shared this information so that he might act accordingly about it. When he went on, though, his voice hardened again. "It was not a secret he had any right to tell."

The whispers started again. It was a boiling cauldron of low voices, hissed opinions and questions stirred into a brew where it was impossible to read anything specific. The general tone, though, was definitely upset, but – and this was right in that moment the most important thing – not at the orc standing on the balcony. Shocked as everyone already was from Tandred's speech, seeing their Horde Lordship standing there unannounced was not as alarming as it might have otherwise been. At least for now, they accepted him. And this was the first time, creating a solid ground from where future acceptance of this orc as their Lady Proudmoore's husband could grow stronger.

In the next few minutes, he had to risk that groundwork.

"Bear with me now, because I will tell you all a tale that will not at once seem relevant," he said.

Then, he told the people much of the same story as he had told Tandred earlier, about the orcs' fall to the Legion. Within the crowd, occasionally there would be somebody making a comment or starting to say something loud. Almost every time this happened, somebody else would hush at them.

The people listened. Confused, but rapt.

"And Ner'zhul, it seems," Thrall finally said after finishing the tale, "is the second half of the Lich King, returned to attempt to damn us all again." He raised his hand when the brief, breathless silence just started to erupt again. "We faced a common enemy together once, you and my people. I only ask that you remember that too, as you consider all that you have learnt today. We faced that demon and his Scourge, and we were victorious."

He took a step back. Before the eyes of the muttering crowd, he briefly nodded to Tandred.

"Admiral."

Tandred nodded back.

"Warchief."

It was a tiny thing, really. But the people were reeling from all the things that suddenly had been thrown at them, trying to sort out what it all meant, where to even start trying to understand it. In that confusion, the final image was of the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras and the Warchief of the Horde being cordial to each other – in the face of much more sinister things than factional hatred.

There had been shock and fear, and those things still lingered. But the Warchief's last words were those of good, strong hope, and so was the sight of that simple little exchange between him and Tandred. It was as if a sigh of relief went through the crowd. There were no cheers when Thrall walked out of sight and into the citadel, it was not the time for that, but the tone of the rising conversations was not at all condemning.

Jaina waited inside the room adjacent to the balcony, together with Aegwynn. She very pointedly had avoided looking at the also present guards throughout the speeches, but she could feel their gazes on her. At least by a fraction, she managed to relax when Thrall met her gaze. They did not speak, however, considering the things that had been said out there. Anything they wanted to say would have sounded very odd after all of that, in front of an audience. Jaina merely reached out and put her hand in Thrall's when he offered it.

Tandred joined them a moment later. Looking unusually serious, Aegwynn raised her hands and dissolved the spell that had amplified the speakers' voices out on the balcony.

"I will speak with you later, then," Tandred said as soon as Aegwynn motioned that it was safe to talk and not be heard by the entire city.

Jaina managed a small smile and a murmured "thank you," to which he briefly smiled back before heading towards the door. Later, she would tell him how grateful she was, as well as impressed by his rhetoric skills. She would have expected nothing less from Thrall, but she had not been sure if Tandred would be comfortable in the speaker's seat. However, he had performed amazingly well. At that moment, though, she was grateful for his tactful leaving.

The closing of the door behind Tandred still left Aegwynn and the guards, though. Jaina looked up at Thrall, with all her might fighting down a sigh.

"There are things in Orgrimmar I must attend to," Thrall murmured. His tone and his gaze said everything about how he felt about it. How they both felt about it. Yet, it was true, painful as it was.

Jaina nodded, unable to keep the motion from being a little stiff. She had to struggle against a wish to lead him back to her chambers and lock the world outside. It would be too selfish of both of them, especially when he had already stayed away from the Horde's outrage for longer than he should have.

His thumb longingly stroke her knuckles.

"I know," Jaina said in a low voice, squeezing the edge of his hand. "I'll see you later on."

She was about to say "in the evening," but didn't as it might be wishful thinking. Who knew how long the awaiting issues might take?

The door opened, and Messenger Ta'sih literally sneaked inside, her bare feet making nary a sound. She watched Thrall for a sign, and only spoke enough to call forth a portal once he nodded at her.

Jaina briefly met his gaze one last time, then glanced the other way when he walked through the portal and disappeared. Her hand tingled from the ghost feel of his.

* * *

The following hours were torture. Never in her life had Jaina experienced time dragging on so horribly. She paced in her bedroom, glancing at the magical rune on the desk every other second. Had the day played out differently, she would have had something to do. Certainly, there were a lot of things she could have done, like seeing upset petitioners about everything that had happened.

However, now she had to play the distraught woman who didn't wish to see anybody for the rest of the day. Very often she had dreamily thought about a few hours of free time, but enjoying it now was impossible. She couldn't concentrate enough to read reports, much less to do some leisure reading, or think of anything else to do. Not even teleporting to the beach where she normally let loose her anger at rocks and drift wood seemed appealing.

Frustration and boredom ate away at her. All she could think of and do was to wait, and that drove her insane with irritation. In any other situation, she would at least have a chance to take action on her own. Only being able to wait for Thrall to get away and call for her was an utterly aggravating experience.

It was a circumstance forced onto her, and the fact that she had still had a large hand in it herself didn't offer any comfort.

When the rune flared up, she almost stumbled over a chair when she dove for it. She snatched the stone up and had to force herself to pause to gather her wits before continuing. Teleporting in such a frenzied state of mind was never a good idea.

After taking in a couple of deep breaths, she closed her eyes and focused, holding the rune tightly between her hands. The world spun around her in a flood of tingles, but she stood firm being so used to the spell.

She opened her eyes as soon as she felt and breathed the warm air of Orgrimmar. Doing so, she found that it had been doubly wise to compose herself before teleporting, for as it turned out, Thrall was not alone in his chambers.

Standing straight and stiff, her heavy helmet under her arm, was a female Kor'kron Elite. Her gaze instantly darted to Jaina, who in turn sought Thrall and turned her face towards him.

"Good evening," Thrall said, his voice calm as he absently dropped his own rune on his writing table. Jaina noticed his fingers twitch as he stepped closer, though.

She nodded back, just as distractedly dropping her rune in a pocket.

"This is Harka," Thrall continued as he stopped beside Jaina, motioning towards the Kor'kron. "She was in Theramore earlier today."

The one who had gotten into an argument with the human guard, then.

"I see," Jaina said. She paused, uncertain what to say next. However, the female orc quickly brought her own issue forwards.

"I wanted to apologize to you as well, Lady," Harka said, steadily watching Jaina. "When that man accused the Warchief of something like that, I couldn't control myself."

Jaina relaxed slightly, shaking her head.

"No," she said. "I believe there is far more reason for me to be angry at my guard, not you."

Harka's hand clenched to a fist, then forcefully relaxed.

"And, Lady, especially after–" she started, but cut herself off, looking disturbed.

Jaina shook her head again, lifting her hand towards Thrall. His slight scowl eased and he smiled down at her.

"Such an accusation is mere nonsense," Jaina said, firmly. "The Warchief has always been very considerate of me, as with everything else."

A spark of relief flared in Harka's eyes before she managed to subdue it. Jaina kept her face impassive, because sadly it did not surprise her that much. She and Thrall had, after all, early on concluded that it was better for her own people to think that the marriage was a sacrifice for the cause of peace on her part. That his people would suspect the same was only to be expected, even if in Thrall's case that harmed his reputation.

"Of course, Lady," Harka said, taking a bow. "I thank you for your time."

"It was my pleasure," Jaina replied.

Bowing her head once more to Thrall, Harka turned around and briskly walked towards the door. Her boots beat a steady staccato, which to Jaina's ears only seemed to become louder and louder for each step.

Ten paces left to the door. Nine. Eight…

It was ridiculous, because it was not a long way to go, but the orc woman never seemed to reach the door. Drawing out the moments it would take before they would finally, _finally_ be alone.

Five paces.

Four. Three. Two…

Harka reached the exit of the chamber and stopped. She stretched out her hand and grasped the handle, drawing the door open and absently nodding to the two Kor'kron guards standing outside. Then she walked through, turning halfway in mid-step to draw the door shut behind her.

The thud of the wood closing up the opening in the wall had hardly hit the air before Jaina spun on her heels towards Thrall, half diving and half torn into his – lamentably armored – embrace. He bent down and without a sign of strain hoisted her up into his arms. For a moment she winced and shifted uncomfortably when some blunt edges of his armor bit into her body, but she soon found a semblance of balance. That was all secondary, however, as she wrapped her arms around Thrall's neck and pressed her forehead to his when he leaned in.

For a little while, neither of them spoke. Jaina's breath came unsteadily, in shaky gasps. By contrast, Thrall breathed deeply, turning his head to press his nose against her cheek. One of his tusks pushed against her jaw line, all the dents and imperfections fully felt and so wonderfully personal, so much him. Like his earthy scent which filled her nostrils for every steadying breath, the familiarity soothing her, just like he seemed to enjoy the scent of her right then. Closing her eyes she stroke his face, feeling the warm skin beneath her fingertips, playing with the black, coarse threads of his beard.

Thrall moved the arm that supported Jaina's back so that he could hold up his hand. She opened her eyes to look, seeing him hold the tips of his thumb and pointing finger a mere breath apart.

"I was this close to ordering her to run out," he said.

Jaina blinked, then laughed softly and pressed her hand against his cheek.

"I wouldn't have blamed you at all if you did," she murmured.

A warm hum left his mouth, but he fell silent when her hand drifted down to his neck. At first he did not move, but then he tilted his chin up to let her see. There was no mark left after the chain that the Lich King had chafed Thrall's spirit wolf – and by extension the Warchief himself – with just a few hours ago.

He was alive. Light, he was alive, when for a few horrifying moments she had thought that he might lose. She had to suppress a sudden shudder, an echo of the terror at how close it had been. Ducking in she nuzzled his throat, pressing a kiss to it. Thrall softly grunted and shifted his grip again, holding her closer if such a thing could be possible.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, rubbing his gloved thumb against her back. "After using a shield like that…" He trailed off. Nothing else really needed to be said about that.

"I drank a lot of water," Jaina said, then admitted, "but I'll probably have a headache tomorrow." She straightened, smiling slightly and shaking her head. "It's nothing." It really wasn't. "How about you?"

"I've had time to recover, even if it was draining."

For a moment it seemed as if he would leave it at that unless prodded, but then he suddenly made a motion towards his neck, curling his pointing finger to draw an invisible line over his no longer marked skin.

"I truly did not like that at all," he said in a quiet voice.

Jaina's chest tightened at this simple admission and all that it carried within. How blind of her to let that drown amongst the universal shock and her own pain – what a collar and chain around his neck must have sent tearing through Thrall's memories.

She reached around and hugged him tightly again, perhaps childishly hoping to chase some of that phantom pain away with the warmth of her arms.

It was disquieting to say the least, how the Lich King managed, with such ease, to strike their most sensitive nerves.

"But you didn't let it bring you off balance," she murmured. Wishing she could think of something more encouraging to say.

Thrall gently squeezed her against his chest.

"I had to," he said.

There was no reply she could think of to that truth, so she simply hummed. That had been why she managed to hold the protective wall up for so long, too.

They both stayed true to the unspoken agreement not to speak of what the whole day had meant for the bigger picture, for the politics and their people. Right then, both of them needed so desperately to be allowed to care only for each other's well being.

A growl from Thrall's stomach, heard despite the mighty armor he wore, broke the heavy silence. Their eyes met. Jaina's lips twitched involuntarily, but in the next moment Thrall smiled and they both relaxed.

"Did you have dinner yet?" he asked.

"No." She shook her head. Food had seemed a very distant issue for a long time. She still couldn't claim to have a great appetite. "I would be fine with just a bit of fruit, myself."

He nodded understanding and shifted, slowly letting her slip down out of his grip until she stood on the floor.

"I anticipated as much," he said and gestured towards the furs on the floor, where they had sat and ate together a few times before.

Jaina glanced that way. She hadn't even noticed that there was a big plate with cold meat, bread and fruit already waiting, preoccupied with other matters as she had been.

"I'll be right there," Thrall said, brushing his hand over her shoulder. That said, he moved towards the scaffold where he let Doomhammer's armor rest when not wearing it.

Following his unspoken urging, Jaina went to sit down on one of the soft furs, but she didn't touch any of the food. Instead she waited for him, watching as he relived himself from one piece of armor after another with skilled fingers.

It was not a long wait. Soon enough he crossed the floor again and sat down beside her. Strange, really, she reflected – that it did not make her as impatient though it took much longer than Harka's excruciatingly drawn out walk.

Even so, it felt as if she could finally breathe easy when she could lean against him and he draped his arm across her back. He didn't have to move much to reach the plate of food, retrieving a generous slice of bread and a heavy branch of grapes. With a small, playful smile he let the branch slide down to dangle from his little finger. Jaina took it as he offered it like that, chuckling softly. When she looked up at him, though, his expression was more serious.

"I don't know if you want to avoid that subject," Thrall said, his warm hand gently squeezing her side. "But I'll keep wondering if seeing Arthas was more shocking to you than you want to admit."

There were times, Jaina knew from past experience and now discovered once again, when Thrall's perceptiveness was almost too great. Yet, she also knew just as well that certain things needed to be faced and fought through before they could be laid to rest.

Still…

"I'll recover," she assured him. She met his gaze and let her face and shoulders relax, smiling faintly. She gathered the bunch of grapes in one hand, stretching her other arm around Thrall's back. She could hardly reach across it. "I will want to talk about it, but not right now. I don't want him in our bedroom."

That made Thrall chuckle, but there was a warm undertone to it and a glint in his eye which told her that he recognized her choice of words in that bizarre final sentence. It was the first time that either of them referred to his chambers as something they shared. In retrospect, it seemed to have taken longer than it should, but at the same time, it took the time it needed.

Jaina closed her eyes and rested her temple against Thrall's side, breathing deeply. The day had been painful, and frightening, and if she could have one wish granted, it would be that this healing, much needed evening would be as long as the previous hours had felt.


	15. Finishing Touches

Waking up was not a welcome sensation. It meant awareness. That in itself was not a bad thing, not when it brought the scent and warmth of Thrall's skin. Unfortunately, the next piece of awareness was that of it being morning, with the ever impending time to part.

Jaina reluctantly stirred.

Thrall's thumb brushed her forehead, stroking away some stray strands of hair. She wasn't surprised to realize that he had probably been awake for some time. Wondering how long he had been just lying there waiting for her to wake up made her smile, eyes still closed, and roll over on her side to press against the warm wall that was his chest.

His hand whispered over her shoulder and to her back, staying there and holding her close.

"Morning," Jaina mumbled, opening one eye and only seeing a shadowed expanse of green skin.

Thrall hummed in the negative.

"It's still early," he murmured. Pressing her forehead to his throat lightly, she could feel the words vibrating inside. "Far too early to rise."

She turned her head a bit, enough to take note of the light filtering in through the shutters of the windows. It was crisp and clear, signifying that indeed it was early. But, that wasn't normally a reason not to get out of bed once they were awake.

On the other hand, she thought that his idea to linger for a bit longer was excellent. Protesting against it was the last thing on Jaina's mind. A sudden small gust of wind found its way through the shutters of the closest window and disturbed the warm air of the chamber. Not much, but it tickled the bare skin of Jaina's shoulders and upper back. With a soft grunt she pulled at the blanket and dragged it higher up over herself and Thrall's arm.

"I agree," she said, sinking back against him and closing her eyes again. "I'm sure everybody expects us to be a little late today, considering everything that happened yesterday." She grunted again, an unusual hint of rebelliousness in her voice. "And if not, then let them wait anyway."

She didn't want to get out of bed, she didn't want to go out and be a politician and be proper and pretend to be struggling against her pain from some of the revelations yesterday. There were enough real things that had happened during the last day that had almost torn her apart. One of them being the excruciating wait for when the two of them could finally be together, to heal in peace. She was far from sure that there had even been enough time to heal yet.

Thrall's hands were around her then, hauling her upwards over the mattress as he moved back a little to look her in the eye, smiling softly. It brought her out of the cocoon of the blanket, but she could forgive him for that. His warm fingers and palms made up for it, though they dotted her skin with goose bumps for entirely different reasons than the sliver of wind.

"I wish we could afford to be selfish more often," he said.

There was an undeniable wistfulness in his words, but also that determination to not let the much needed respite from last night end just yet. Jaina nodded slowly, her eyes hooded as she reached out to tuck a long strand of black hair behind his ear. Last evening when he'd pulled the leather cords and metallic bracelets holding his braids free, they had laughed about him letting his hair down.

Her fingers lingered, tracing his pointed ear. Thrall released a slow, soft sigh and his eyes slid shut. Jaina stroke her fingertips down the ear and followed his jaw line, then pressed her hand against it, level with his squat, pierced nose and protruding fangs and tusks.

She thought about how beautiful it was to see him relaxed, free of the almost ever present lines – whether it be from determination, concern, or anger – on his forehead. Yes, she too wished that they could be selfish, that she could see him like this more often and know that he was at ease.

When she reached forwards he drew her closer, so that she could drape one arm over his neck. His blue eyes opened just as she pressed her lips to his brow.

Even if they could not be selfish as often as both of them wished, they had at the core of it already been as selfish as they could possibly be. This whole situation should have been impossible. It should have been hopeless. And still, she would come to his chambers again in the evening. They would celebrate together tomorrow, in broad daylight.

There were a thousand things that could go wrong at any given moment, many things had already gone wrong or threatened to end in disaster. But right then, just for once, Jaina didn't care. She didn't even have to make herself brave enough to face all the current and possible future issues, because she wasn't worried – the sober, ever present concern that was like a second nature to her dissipated with the simple and at the same time astounding fact of where they both were. They had this warm little moment in time. It would not be the last.

One of Thrall's hands left her back, and a moment later the back of his fingers brushed against her cheek. Then there was a slight push, hardly more than the caress. Light as it was Jaina moved with it, tipping herself until she slumped onto her back. Thrall propped himself up on one arm, reaching the other to place that hand on the mattress by her opposite shoulder.

"It strikes me," he said, "that many people will drink a lot tomorrow, and consequently suffer hangovers the next day. So much, perhaps, that we can sleep in again."

Jaina smiled wide.

"Your wisdom is truly one of your most outstanding attributes," she said, using the same jocularly overly dignified tone as he.

For a moment they watched each other, lips twitching. Then Thrall's expression softened and he shifted, moving his weight to the other arm until he leaned over her. His long hair slipped over his shoulders and fell down like a pair of curtains against the world.

Jaina reached up with both her hands, burying her fingers in the base of those black cascades of hair, drawing little circles with her fingertips that caused the thick locks to ripple.

She felt a stitch of that anxiety from just a few days ago, when he looked at her like that. It was dulled, though, as they had already passed the hindering worry. It was there, but not enough to make her anxious. It would fade completely soon. Being together was simply still a very new act, and all the little issues and compromises had not yet been explored.

There was a thrill in that as well.

"I've been trying to remember why I protested so much when you first suggested this alliance," Thrall said, with an unusually impish glint in his eye.

Jaina tilted her head, spreading her hair further over the pillow.

"Why would you try to do that?" she asked, lips twitching again. As she spoke, she moved her leg until she could brush it against his.

Thrall's shrug upset his position and his hair alike.

"It seems so strange to me now," he said.

"Yes, it was rather silly of you, wasn't it?" Jaina knew she smiled wider than she ought to in order to look dignified, but what did it matter?

"Very," Thrall said, grinning as he leant down and pressed his forehead against hers. They both left it unsaid that there had been so many problems born from his protests being deflated.

No matter what had happened after, even the Lich King's assault, had been worth it.

* * *

The sun was still low in the east when they finally rose. Still Jaina lingered for a little bit, as there were some things to discuss for the coming day. They parted with a promise to meet early in the evening, since there were still more matters they needed to go through for the celebration.

When Jaina returned to Theramore, she quickly dressed properly and then took off towards the throne room to begin her own final preparations for the next day.

Everything was going smoothly by every report. Two ships had sailed to Ratchet yesterday to collect the pigs that the Warchief had promised the people of Theramore for the celebration for the wedding. A mage had now teleported from the ships straight to Theramore to announce that everything was in order.

Down in the city the final touches were put on the ribbons and garlands decorating every nock and cranny. The shocking revelations yesterday might have put a lid on the festive spirits – but then again, those spirits were muddled with shock and confusion from the very beginning. Now, there was at least new confidence that the Warchief did care deeply about their Lady Proudmoore, and that by extension offered a promise of protection for the entire city state.

Such matters kept Jaina busy until it began to near lunchtime, when it was brought to her attention that the delegation from the Exodar had arrived and were ready to meet with her. After instructing that they should be shown to the audience chamber, Jaina hurried there herself, followed by a pair of soldiers from her Elite Guard.

Polite greetings were exchanged, before she bade them to sit with her around the large table.

The six draenei were uneasy. Strange, actually, how they did little things that were easy to read, even when they were beings from an alien culture. Tails swished back and forth down the sides of their chairs, and more than once one of the men and women reached up to rub a facial tendril between clawed thumb and pointing finger. They hardly touched the light food that had been served after they sat down.

The sun that shone in through the windows glittered on the plate armor three of them wore. They were vindicators, but two of the others were shamans and the last one, one of the females, wore a blue mage's robe.

Jaina couldn't blame them from being nervous. Even if they had volunteered and surely had their reasons for daring to do so, visiting Orgrimmar was still an intimidating thing. If she was honest with herself, she personally preferred simply appearing in Thrall's chambers. When it came down to it, she had not seen much of the city itself either.

"You are all admirably brave for taking up this task," Jaina said, smiling in a way she hoped was reassuring enough. As if anything could be reassuring enough with such a situation looming before them. "Prophet Velen must have great faith in you, as well."

That did at least make them smile.

"Most of us have aided the communal defense of Shattrath City," one of the male vindicators said, then nodded towards the shamans, "or worked closely with the Earthen Ring for some time."

He paused and exchanged glances with the others, as if silently asking if he had to be the one to say it aloud. The mage took that burden off his shoulders.

"Even so," she said, her accent deepening slightly as she tensed further, "I am sure you understand that it is an intimidating thing."

"I assure you that you will be perfectly safe in Orgrimmar," Jaina said. "You have my and my husband's word on that."

"We are grateful for that, Lady Proudmoore," the vindicator said, but his smile was still a little tight.

Jaina could tell that there was little she could do to calm them apart from official promises. She couldn't sit down together with them and talk about what it meant at length. Actually, she probably could not properly grasp what it meant. Even if they had made alliances of convenience with Horde in Outland, they would walk right into the capital of the people who unleashed genocide upon the draenei. Not to mention that there _were_ certainly people in Orgrimmar, and any Horde settlement, who wanted nothing but to slit their throats.

Who wanted to slit her throat too, when it came down to it. And they weren't about to become any happier, either.

She pushed those disturbing thoughts away.

"If you have any questions, you can direct them to myself or to Emissary Southstone," she said. "He is Theramore's envoy to Orgrimmar, and he has experience meeting peacefully with orcs even alone and in their territory. I am certain that he can help ease any concern you have for tomorrow evening."

"Ah, there is one thing…" the mage started. She paused and glanced at the others in silent question. Glowing eyes turned back and forth, all six of them trading looks until finally one after another they nodded.

The mage cleared her throat.

"We have of course heard about the horrifying incident with the Lich King yesterday," she started.

Jaina pursed her mouth, but she was more surprised than disturbed that this subject was suddenly brought up.

"Yes?" she said, not unkindly.

"The Prophet heard about it too, of course, as we spoke about this issue before we all left the Exodar," the mage continued. She folded her hands on the table. "In light of that, it is perhaps audacious to make this request, however…"

Jaina listened, and her eyebrows rose steadily as the brief, yet incredibly heavy, request was spoken. She did not dare glance at the guards in the room, but she expected more than one jaw hung loose.

Finally, she slowly nodded, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. She felt light headed. It was an amazing thing. She needed a moment to gather her wits.

"I will speak with the Warchief about it," she said, fighting to keep her smile small. "Even considering what occurred yesterday, I doubt that he will turn such an offer down. I can say with full certainty that he fully understands this graciousness you are extending and values it with the awe it deserves."

The mage's shoulders fell in relief, and she nodded, smiling. One of the shamans leaned forwards.

"A lot of people will be upset," she said, but though her tone was sad, she smiled briefly. "However, this is a wedding celebration, and it is hope for peace. We have…" she paused. "I won't lie, Lady Proudmoore, we all have terrifying memories from Draenor. But all of us here have seen orcs trying to make amends."

Jaina slowly nodded, her high spirits dampened somewhat from the mention of what the orcs had wrought upon not only one but two worlds, under demonic influence.

"A lot of people are already upset by what happened a few days ago in Ratchet," she said.

One of the shamans opened his mouth to speak, when there was a knock on the door. As Jaina looked at her and nodded, the guard by the door opened it. A servant stepped inside and bowed.

"The High Priestess Tyrande has arrived with her escort, my Lady."

Jaina nodded and turned to the draenei.

"Would you mind if they were also invited in here?" she asked. It would be beneficial to have the two groups meet early on since they would go together to Orgrimmar. Still, she wanted to be polite.

The draenei were only eager to see the night elves as well, and a few minutes later Tyrande entered followed by a few sentinels and a couple of druids. The female warriors were all in armor while the druids were dressed in more relaxed robes, but like the draenei they had all left their weaponry before coming to the chamber. They brought with them a faint scent of leaves and sap.

Tyrande herself wore her soft white dress adorned with smooth teal jewels. Still, the way she moved was ever reminiscent of that warrior queen riding atop a white tiger, who Jaina had met during those insane, painful months years ago when the desperate alliance of orcs, humans and night elves were made.

Although tall for a human woman, Jaina still had to look up to meet Tyrande's gaze. The glowing, silvery eyes seemed alike those of the draenei, but at the same time the shine was very different.

"Welcome to Theramore, High Priestess," Jaina said and bowed her head in greeting.

Tyrande nodded back.

"Elune be with you, Lady Proudmoore. I am very happy to see you again, dear friend." Her tone was calm, and if she felt some concern about the next day she did not give it away.

Being in full armor, the sentinels chose to remain standing when Jaina bade the night elves to sit.

"Do you have any questions for tomorrow?" Jaina asked while new plates of sweet bread and fruit were served around the table.

"Is the decision still that we will teleport to just outside the Warchief's Grommash Hold, then spend the evening inside?" Tyrande asked. Then, when Jaina nodded, she continued. "Good. There has been some disappointment that we will not see more of the city."

A sardonic glint flashed in her eyes. That disappointment had certainly not originated from people hoping for a better look on Orgrimmar for peaceful purposes.

"I am content with and respect the Warchief's decision on this matter," Tyrande finished.

Jaina nodded. It was something that was non-negotiable, but she felt glad to have Tyrande state her understanding out loud.

"I wish to assure you that security will be tight," Jaina said, looking also at the draenei. "The Warchief's own Kor'kron Elite will guard the Hold, and he has asked tauren of the Cenarion Circle and Horde shamans of the Earthen Ring to stand by as well. He hopes that this will help you all feel more comfortable."

"The Warchief is very considerate, I must say," Tyrande said with a smile. She exchanged a nostalgic glance with Jaina while the draenei murmured agreement.

Jaina nodded, then hesitated for a moment. She wasn't quite sure how to properly convey this message, but it needed to be spoken. Even though it seemed both silly and worrisome.

"I have understood that Vol'jin of the Darkspears volunteered to see to the entertainment in Grommash Hold tomorrow," she said. "The Warchief assured me that he had given strict orders about not doing anything, ah, too extravagant. The trolls are well aware of how important this celebration is, too, and they would not do anything that would harm the situation. Still, the Warchief would like to apologize in advance if there's any little mischief."

Thrall's exact words had been "though he tries not to show it, I've never seen Vol'jin so enthusiastic about something like this and it's making me nervous." It was enough to make Jaina feel wary as well.

Tyrande's lips twitched just the faintest bit.

"I appreciate your and the Warchief's concern," she said. "We will have to be prepared for some joking, then." She turned briefly towards her entourage. The Sentinels and the druids didn't look very amused at all, but one after another they stiffly nodded.

The draenei mostly looked politely confused. Unfortunately, explaining the issue of insistent troll and night elf romance rumors, would not be politically correct. If they didn't know of it now, they surely would sooner or later anyway.

"We are both very sincere about wanting this celebration to be peaceful," Jaina added.

This time, Tyrande smiled.

"As it should be," she replied. "It is a wedding celebration."

They concluded the meeting shortly after that, as both the draenei and the night elves wished to rest for the coming day. Also, they surely also wished to keep mentally preparing themselves for visiting Orgrimmar, but nobody admitted that.

Jaina was glad to finish the meeting, and it was with a feeling of lingering relief since both groups, while nervous, had been positive about the whole thing.

There were still a few things she needed to do as well.

"Call for Emissary Southstone, and his guard Reed," she told a servant as she headed back to the throne room.

She had time to work through a few more simple messages and orders pertaining to the celebration before the two men arrived and were let in.

Emissary Southstone was a tall man, as suited a paladin. The man standing beside him looked very small in compare, about one head shorter, and with a much thinner build. His sandy blond hair laid in thick locks around his head, giving him a bit of a boyish appearance.

Even wearing leather armor, he certainly did not look like the rogue he was.

"You wished to see us, Lady Proudmoore?" Thomas said as both of them saluted.

"Yes," Jaina said. "I wish to ask you to spare your bodyguard for tomorrow morning."

Thomas glanced to the side, but Collins Reed only saluted again, his face unreadable.

"With Emissary Southstone's permission, I will do my outmost to complete any task you ask of me, Lady Proudmoore," the rogue said.

"I would never be so bold as to refuse such a simple request, my Lady," Thomas agreed, looking back at Jaina. He could not hide the flicker of curiosity and confusion in his gaze, unlike his friend.

Jaina nodded. She felt a little bit cruel, suspecting neither of them felt they could have protested, even had she told them the issue beforehand. It was a quite unsettling job she had in store for Collins. However, she knew of none in the Theramore espionage force who could be better trusted to handle themselves peacefully should a bad situation occur, nor had the language skills to talk themselves out of something should it be needed. If all else failed, the man also had his background in a neutral faction to fall back on.

"While the celebration of the marriage is tomorrow evening, we will finalize the Warchief's and my wedding in orcish fashion in the morning," Jaina said, and they nodded understanding. "It is mainly for the orcs, and it will take place in Orgrimmar's Valley of Spirits. Officially, I will be the only human there as it is a heavily symbolic thing for the orcs."

This was what she had alluded to when Tandred asked her whether the Warchief's marriage was not important enough to require more ceremony than the actual wedding had involved – when she told him that they would complete what Drek'Thar had said in Ratchet, that she had proven worthy to be part of the Frostwolf clan. She wondered how long she ought to wait before telling him everything the ceremony to finalize her mating with Thrall would entail. He would probably be a bit disturbed.

"The Warchief has prepared for tight security, but just as another sign of the cooperation between our nations it would be suitable to have at least one of Theramore's defenders aiding the Horde sentries. There will be handpicked guards of the Shadows of Orgrimmar watching over the perimeter, and I wish that you take part in their mission."

Thomas suddenly looked uneasy, but Collins calmly nodded.

"I am honored for your trust, my Lady," the rogue said.

"I will call for you tomorrow morning, then," Jaina said with a nod. "The Shadows commander will assign you a position before the ceremony begins."

"As you wish, my Lady."

She dismissed them, and they left the audience chamber.

Walking down the corridor outside, Thomas gave his friend a worried look.

"Collins–"

"A bit of trust, please," Collins interrupted him, smiling wryly at the Emissary.

"You know I trust you, but I don't trust everyone who will take one look at you and decide you'd make funny sounds if they tossed you against the cliffs."

Collins snorted and shook his head.

"There's no way they won't have somebody watching my every step," he said, then patted Thomas' arm. "Don't worry. I'll bring daggers with paralyzing drugs to be on the safe side. Besides…" he grinned wickedly. "Most of the Shadows are trolls. We _like_ trolls, don't we, Tommy?"

Thomas' ears turned beet red. Coughing, he looked the other way. Therefore he didn't see his friend's grin falter, but return immediately as Thomas looked back.

"Stop teasing me about Lady Ta'sih, it's getting annoying," Thomas said.

"Sorry, sorry. I promise I'll stop," Collins said and waved his hands in a pacifying gesture. Even so, Thomas did see his lips curl when he called the troll mage 'Lady.' Knowing well how seldom his rogue friend showed any emotion involuntarily, the paladin wasn't sure what to make of Collins' reaction. Deep down in his gut he felt a stitch of disquiet he could not place.

Back in the audience chamber, Jaina was about to ask if there were any messengers or emissaries asking for her to meet with them, when a guard entered and saluted. Once she bade him speak, he lowered his hand.

"Lord Admiral Proudmoore has returned from Kul Tiras and wishes to see you in private, my Lady," the man said. "He waits in his rooms."

Jaina blinked in surprise, but then nodded.

"Very well, then I will see him immediately. Inform anybody waiting for an audience that I will return shortly."

It was not far from the audience chamber to the rooms that Tandred had been given, but curiosity forced Jaina to struggle against a wish to run or simply teleport there. But she had to mind herself and give a composed impression, and so she walked, followed by a pair of Elites. The guards stopped outside as the ones by Tandred's door immediately let her in.

Tandred was standing by one of the windows, gazing outside, but turned around when the door opened. He came to meet her halfway across the floor, his greeting smile absent and marred by a small but concerned frown. The door closed.

"I didn't even know that you had gone to Kul Tiras," Jaina said, the question apparent in her tone. She did not like that look on his face.

"It was a sudden decision, and you were very busy as it were. Still, I'm sorry," Tandred said. He rubbed his chin, rustling his short beard. "I received word via a mage that Mish- Captain Waycrest had returned to port, and, you know there were many things I wished to discuss with her and my advisors."

Normally Jaina would have smiled at him almost calling the Captain by her first name, but she was still uncertain where this was going.

"And what were the results?" she asked.

"We could not reach any solid ones, not on such short notice. They had not gotten used to the news." Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't think they were at all pleased with the decisions I've already made. But, I did tell them everything I could, as well as I could. I would like you to make an official visit and confirm things, later."

"Of course," Jaina said. She watched him, the pain in his gaze that he tried to keep down. It must have been a struggle for him to wrangle with his advisors and fear that even Mishan Waycrest would think him mad. She wanted to ask him if the Captain had told him anything between four eyes later on, but didn't feel it was appropriate.

"But," he said, and straightened up with a new look of determination. "It took a lot of arguing, but we did decide on one thing."

"What then?" Jaina asked. She couldn't help the guarded note in her voice, unsure as she felt.

"I'll have to discuss how to go about it with your husband," Tandred said, and he pursed his lips in a grim smile. "But I have a wedding gift for you and him, and his people."


	16. The Celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Shadows of Orgrimmar is an invention by T. Mirai, a group of elite rogues loyal to Thrall and Vol'jin, dealing with those sneaky, dangerous jobs where bashing somebody's skull in isn't the best way to get things done. They are based on the stealthed trolls standing on rooftops in Orgrimmar, that only come out when Alliance raiders try to invade. The Shadows in Mirai's take on them, though, are according to her mainly trolls but "there are some orcs, belves, and to a lesser extent undead among them." You already saw a hint of them in chapter ten.

Drums sounded in the early morning throughout Orgrimmar, calling all orcs to take part in the ceremony in the Valley of Spirits. It sounded well in advance so that people had time to gather there before the event itself started. The city was already coming alive then, and people filled the sloping roads leading up to the lake.

Orcs of all ages congregated along the water's shore, but there were also people of other Horde races among them – in particular trolls and Tauren. Very few Forsaken and blood elves were present. The non-orcs were more noticeable, as they moved into and onto the troll huts built on the lake if they could, to get a better view. No orc attempted to stand anywhere but along the shore, even if they had to stand in multiple rows. Room was respectfully offered up for a small group of brown skinned orcs standing near the northernmost end of the lake. They half surrounded a small mat that had been laid out, upon which Greatmother Geyah sat with an expectant look in her eyes. She did occasionally glance up at Garrosh who stood by, looking displeased but holding his tongue.

As the sun fully rose above the cliffs, the sound of a horn reverberated between the stone walls surrounding half the lake. People closest to the road down to the north of the city quickly moved aside to make way for Drek'Thar, aided to find his way by a marginally younger far seer. The two of them led a group of several shamans and far seers of the Frostwolf clan.

Drek'Thar stepped into the water and the others followed, creating a half-circle around him as he turned towards the city. His aide joined the others, leaving the old, blind orc to stand tall and waiting, as all of them did. Only the wind, the cries of the birds above and hushed conversations could be heard, despite the great amount of people gathered. They were all waiting.

Drums sounded again, a different, expectant beat this time, and drawing closer. Kor'kron Elites and yet more shamans crested the road's downwards slope to become visible to the crowd, riding grand wolf mounts at a brisk, even pace. The spectators moved further aside, letting the guards line up, creating a safe pathway towards the lake.

Then, the Warchief and his mate came riding the same way, followed by additional guards.

The ornaments on Thrall's armor gleamed in the rising sun, and he rode a great, pale grey Frostwolf Howler. Beside him, the pure white Snowsong kept an even pace with the other wolf, carrying Jaina on her back.

The fact that Thrall was not riding on his own wolf mount was a bit jarring. However, Snowsong was the only wolf that both he and Jaina trusted to carry her without a fuss, since there had been little time to train another wolf to accept a human rider. While not used to carrying humans, Snowsong at least knew Jaina and therefore accepted the whole thing cordially.

Jaina kept her head high, and, she hoped, her face calm without a hint about the trepidation she felt. There was so much that could go wrong today. At least, she knew Thrall was just as tense as she. They had to just take one moment at a time and hope for the best.

She didn't feel completely comfortable in her current clothing either. She wasn't used to wearing leather. While modeled to look reminiscent of her choice of wear, there were no sleeves and the skirt felt very heavy to her. It also forced her to sit in a sideways saddle, as the alternative had been to have it split at the sides – which either would have meant she showed her bare legs to half of Orgrimmar or had to wear pants beneath, something that would have made the clothes stifling. Even in the soothing warmth of the morning, she already felt hot.

Thrall had it easy – though she didn't doubt that Orgrim's armor was heavy, at least he was used to wearing it and orcs much preferred heat.

Still, she had to look calm and proud. There was no alternative to that. Even though the braid her hair was set in, and the metal rings and leather cords holding it together, made her head feel heavy.

Reaching the shore, both she and Thrall dismounted and stepped into the lake. The water playfully lapped around their feet for every step, feeling pleasantly tempered. It reached halfway up to Jaina's knees by the time she stopped in front of Drek'Thar. Thrall continued forwards another couple of steps and turned around, to stand facing her beside his old teacher.

Drek'Thar made an imposing sight even when standing beside the taller Thrall. There was weight in his posture despite his grey hair and aged face. The fold over his blind eyes strangely served not to make him seem weaker, but stronger. Everything about his calm, serious expression and posture underlined what strength existed in him, who had risen and garnered such respect among his people despite his blindness.

A flighty thought flew through Jaina's mind, wondering if Thrall had begun wearing his hair in two thick braids falling down his broad chest just like Drek'Thar, in respect for the old orc.

She pushed such thoughts aside and moved her feet apart, reaching back to pull her mage's staff from her back. The large green gem set at its tip briefly flared up at her touch, until she silently commanded it to cease. With a splash and hard clack of wood against stone she planted the staff on the rock beneath her. Then, she knocked a fist to her chest in an orcish salute.

"I am Jaina Proudmoore," she called out. "I offer my hands, my weapons and all the strength in my body to the Frostwolf clan."

They had agreed that it was better to hold the whole ceremony in Common, rather than to have her try to learn all the Orcish words and risk butchering them in such a weighty moment. And in a touch of tact, they had also agreed to remove the invocation of her ancestors' blessings. Indirectly calling upon Daelin Proudmoore's approval seemed more than a little out of place.

She couldn't define what it made her feel, standing there in orc clothing, speaking such strange phrases, before Thrall and Drek'Thar with as good as every orc in Orgrimmar watching. The words were odd in her mouth, and yet at the same time they lifted her, offering an exhilarating rush of rebellious power. On one level this, as much as their wedding, was her and Thrall's personal mutiny against the voices crying out for war between their factions.

It had an unavoidable political level too. The warmth and pride in Thrall's eyes, though, assured her that he felt the same about this moment.

Her offering her loyalty to the Frostwolf clan did of course create new complications. There was the question of the battles in Alterac Valley, and this technically put her on one side of that conflict. However, the agreement for Warsong Gulch offered hope for the situation in the Eastern Kingdoms too. It would be dealt with later on.

"You have proven your might and loyalty to all of us, Lady Proudmoore," Drek'Thar said, his powerful voice echoing between the cliffs. "With the blessings of the spirits, as leader of the Frostwolf clan, I accept your fealty. May your power merge with the strength of the entire clan, and aid us in crushing any enemy who would dare to threaten us."

He offered his strong, old hand and silently for now, Thrall did the same.

"You do me honor, chieftain," Jaina said. She handed her staff to one of the shamans standing by. "From this day on, call upon me should you ever need my strength."

With that, she placed one hand in Thrall's, and one in Drek'Thar's.

An infant orc would have been carried into the water by her parents and presented to the clan, then accepted by the chieftain and blessed by the elder shaman. But, though this was a symbolic act of rebirth for Jaina, she was not an infant and equating her with one would be jarring.

She leaned backwards, holding Thrall and Drek'Thar's hands until they were the only things keeping her from falling. They continued, lowering her into the clear, sun warmed water of the shallow lake.

The water closed over her face and Jaina closed her eyes, holding her breath for the few seconds that passed before Thrall started to straighten again. Jaina quickly squeezed Drek'Thar's finger to signal to him to move as well. Even if she had pinched her lips shut as hard as she could, as soon as she drew breath again she tasted the light metallic tang of the water, brought on by its resting place on Durotar's orange rock ground.

Water filled her ears for the first moments as she was lifted up again, turning the cheers of the crowd into a hollow, rumbling echo. She tried not to think about that many probably sneered and snickered at the audacious little human looking like a drowned rat. But as she let go of Drek'Thar's hand and Thrall offered her his other one, his lips moved in a whisper and a gust of wind poured around Jaina, helping to at least start drying her. The heat of the day would quickly do the rest.

"Your devotion cannot be questioned," Thrall said. "As we have in the past, let us stand together and defend what we have built up ever since we fought back Archimonde's legions."

"I will fight by your side whenever you face an enemy, Warchief." Jaina couldn't help purse her mouth in a brief, grim smile, and Thrall squeezed her hand in response. The memory of the Lich King flew by like a cold shadow. Jaina pushed it aside with all her might. "Let us keep bridging the tears between our people."

The shaman holding Jaina's staff handed it back to her, and she slipped it back into the holders of her back piece.

The cheers rose up again as together, she and Thrall walked back to their wolves and climbed back into the saddles. They waited for a little while, though, as Drek'Thar mounted a well-trained frost wolf and joined them. Then the three of them started down towards Grommash Hold, surrounded by Kor'krons.

Already one could hear the sounds of laughter and music from the city below. Whether or not people agreed that this whole thing was a good idea, the general agreement seemed to be that it was a good reason as any to drink and have fun.

By the time the long line of people got back to Grommash Hold, Jaina's clothes were almost completely dry. The leather took the longest, though, still clinging to her even as the procession reached the entrance to the fortress. It restricted her movements somewhat, but luckily she didn't have to move that much.

There was so much to think about that Jaina almost forgot, but it struck her just as she dismounted Snowsong and caught sight of an orc in dark leather armor speaking with one of the Kor'krons by the entrance to Grommash Hold. She could not speak with Thrall about it right away, though, as they were surrounded by people and worry about a single person would be out of place. She pushed it aside for the time being.

The shamans and far seers, as well as orc commanders, led by overlord Saurfang, came down the sloping road. The latter rode on wolf mounts, while the former rushed along in the form of mighty spirit wolves. Other far seers as well as Thrall's advisors such as Eitrigg stepped forwards at this point as well. All of them gathered outside of the Hold, and followed Thrall, Jaina and Drek'Thar as they headed inside.

Vol'jin was not present, with the excuse that this was an orcish part of the celebration, and he still had to make sure everything would be perfect for the entertainment for the evening. Jaina could tell that Thrall was growing increasingly worried about that, and it was contagious. But it was yet another thing they had to keep ahead of themselves, and hope that Vol'jin had enough sense to keep his people under control.

The throne room had been cleaned up well from the Lich King's assault, so well that no trace of the cuts in the floor remained. The great fur carpet presenting a huge map of Kalimdor had been removed, not only to be repaired but also as an act of tact towards the people who would visit later in the day. It might otherwise invoke the idea that from his throne, Thrall always surveyed land to be conquered. Fresh, thick wolf and bear skins had been laid out along the edge of the floor instead, for the guests to sit on.

On the walls hung new banners for the occasion – blue ones emblazoned with the Frostwolf clan's white wolf's head in a circle, and, looking rather alien in this environment, white ones with Theramore's golden anchor.

Inside what was usually a large meeting chamber, a feast had been prepared to be served in honor of the Warchief's mate being sworn into his clan – though a light one by orc standards, considering it was so early in the morning. Greatmother Geyah and a few Mag'har orcs were already waiting in there, Thrall's grandmother having been teleported to and from the Valley to at least spare her frail body that trip.

As they sat down at the head of the table, Jaina finally had time to whisper to Thrall.

"Whatever happened to Reed?"

She had not seen the rogue since the two of them arrived in Orgrimmar and she went with Thrall to prepare for the ceremony. Collins, on the other hand, had headed off together with an orc and troll rogue of the Shadows of Orgrimmar.

Thrall blinked at the question, proving that his mind must be as abuzz as her own. It visibly took him half a second to remember whom she meant. Jaina had really only wondered where the man had gone, but Thrall muttered to one of the orcs walking around offering bread from a large basket. The tall woman nodded and wandered off, whispering to one of the guards by the door.

A little while later another servant returned from a round near the door and announced in a low voice that Emissary Southstone's body guard was with the Shadows. Just knowing that was enough for Jaina, and she took the issue off her mental list of things to keep in mind.

The sour expression on Garrosh Hellscream's face was the only thing clouding the otherwise smooth goings. He kept his peace, however, possibly because he was seated between Geyah and Saurfang. Or perhaps Thrall had shared the idea he had grumbled about to Jaina earlier, that he was tempted to have Garrosh drugged just enough to keep him sitting straight but too far gone to speak, if need be.

* * *

As the sky began to turn a blazing yellow in the west, a smell of roasted meat rose from the streets of Theramore. Inns opened their doors wide for everyone, and wherever there could safely be a bonfire in the streets and on the marketplaces, one was started to roast the many hogs gifted from the Warchief. Bread, fruit and drink was served to whoever could pay just a little coin, inviting even the poorest of the city to for eat their fill as well.

While the city began the celebration, three groups of people prepared to leave it.

Jaina entered her throne room followed by several men and women of her Elite guard, as well as Aegwynn, Tandred, emissary Southstone and his aide. The guards' armors were polished until one could see a reflection in the metal, and those not wearing plate were dressed in white robes with golden hems. Jaina herself had opted to at least exchange her leather skirt for one made of silk instead. The rest of the more orcish clothes she chose to keep, as well as the braid and trinkets in her hair. As per human wedding tradition, a few flowers had been added to the primal jewelry.

The draenei representatives, and Tyrande with her entourage, already waited in the throne room. If Tyrande was nervous, she gave no sign of it. The others, however, kept casting sideways glances at each other, fidgeting with their robes. Just as Jaina entered, the female mage of the draenei was whispering to one of the shamans, rubbing one of the tendrils hanging from behind her ear between two fingers. She immediately cut herself off and smiled anxiously in greeting along with the others. Jaina knew why, and nodded at her, hoping the silent support would help. The much taller, blue skinned woman smiled a little wider for a brief moment.

Jaina turned to sweep her gaze over all of them. There were more people who needed to be calmed, in these final doubtful seconds before they went right into the enemy's stronghold as guests. She was pretty sure that she, Aegwynn and possibly Southstone were the only ones who weren't fearful on some level. And even she was anxious about how well or bad the evening would turn out.

"Good evening," Jaina said, smiling as soothingly as she could. "Remember that we will be appearing inside of Grommash Hold. There will be guards all around, but let me remind you that they are loyal to Thrall and of the Earthen Ring. There is nothing to fear."

"Of course not," Tyrande calmly replied. Her followers looked at her and carefully, their shoulders sunk a little as she seemed confident.

"Is everyone ready, then?" Jaina asked.

She gave them a few moments to collect themselves enough to nod, and then raised her hands. Teleporting so many at once took great effort, but she had mentally prepared herself as well as she could. Focusing with all her might she swept out her will to encompass everyone in the room, and then zero in her mind on the mental image of Grommash Hold. The world tingled and fell away, then swept up again in a wholly different shape.

Again Jaina felt very glad that she had changed skirt, as while Theramore had been bathed in the evening cool, Orgrimmar was still as hot as the middle of the day. The braziers illuminating the inside of the hold did the temperature no favors, either. The fire cast wild shadows over the walls, from the armored orcs standing silent along the walls. Some were Kor'kron Elites, but many were shamans of all the Horde races that were able to commune with the spirits.

Jaina didn't hear any of the draenei or night elves recoil, but she wouldn't have blamed them. It was an intimidating first sight.

The guests from the Alliance had appeared on one side of the throne hall, and on the opposite side there were already representatives of the Horde factions waiting. Consciously, Thrall had had the tauren stand closest to where Jaina's groups would appear – and the Forsaken the furthest away. The smell was still very noticeable, even though it mixed with soothing scents of burning incense. Thrall had not been joking about that.

Thrall himself stood before his throne, watching the entire hall as intensely as everyone else. The air felt heavy to breathe, until he spoke.

"Welcome to Orgrimmar."

His voice rung out, calm and reassuring. Jaina's own shoulders fell, and though nobody replied verbally, some shuffling was heard from all over the hall as guards and guests alike moved to stand a little more at ease. It was a matter of pride, now, to at least appear unaffected by the proximity of people usually considered enemies.

Nodding briefly to the guests she had brought, Jaina started forwards together with her companions. The others stayed behind, waiting for their time.

Thrall met her gaze as she approached, tense hope flaring in his blue eyes. He offered her his hand as she stepped up the stairs to where he stood, and she squeezed the huge finger she grasped. Even though he had sounded collected before, she knew it was a well practiced act. This was far from over.

Her guards, Tandred and the others moved aside, to furs laid out on the floor to the right beneath the stairs. There they sat down, and the guards took off their helmets to place them on the furs. On the left side of the stairs, Saurfang, Geyah, Hellscream and other prominent already sat, watching everything in silence.

Or in Garrosh's case, glaring rather than watching.

Jaina stepped up beside Thrall and turned to face the hall.

"Darkspear tribe," Thrall said. He spoke Orcish first, then said the same thing in Common. "I and my mate thank you for celebrating with us tonight."

Bone trinkets and sea shell jewelry rattled as the trolls gathered on the other side of the hall stepped forwards, led by Vol'jin.

It might have seemed like a very small issue to some, but the order of greetings had caused Thrall and Jaina severe headaches during their discussions about how to go about the celebration. Some group would inevitably have to step forwards last, and the threat of resentment for that slight was great. Even if the visitors themselves were understanding, others among their people would doubtlessly grumble about it.

And on the other side of things, who should be greeted first? That group would be seen as the host and hostess' greatest ally, as they received that honor. They could not begin with the trolls, tauren, Forsaken and blood elves in a row, then greet the night elves and draenei, either, or the other way around. That would be favoring Horde or Alliance.

At the same time, greeting everyone at once was disrespectful in its own way, as that would make it seem like no group deserved recognition for being there.

In the end, Thrall and Jaina had settled on an order that had enough significance to hopefully be acceptable to all. The trolls first, then tauren, night elves, Forsaken, blood elves and finally draenei – the order in which the groups had become allies of the orcs and Theramore during the third war and beyond. It was not perfect and it could be argued against since some were no friends of one side or the other, but it seemed like the most natural option.

In the end, also, the draenei's request during the previous day gave a decent reason on its own that they were greeted last. It was a request best fulfilled when everyone else was seated and watching.

Vol'jin responded to Thrall's greeting in Orcish while the trolls behind him bowed, but left it at that. Even so, he did incline his head to Jaina briefly, as a gesture of goodwill in place of speaking Common. She returned it. It was no secret to her that Vol'jin had severe doubts about this whole thing, but there was very little she could do right now to mend that. That would only come in time. She hoped that it would come to all of them in time.

The trolls went to sit down, and the tauren stepped forwards instead. Cairne, unlike Vol'jin, offered a warm smile as he spoke in his deep, rumbling voice.

"May this celebration mark the start of a more peaceful time," he said. "It takes great bravery to do what you have done, and harder work to end battles than to start new ones."

He paused there, and let Jaina and Thrall thank him. More words hung in the air between them, more things he wanted to say were written all over his face. But that too would have to wait for another time. The tauren moved away, hooves ringing softly against the floor.

The steps of the night elves, on the other hand, despite many of them being barefoot, seemed to ring through the air.

"It has been a long time since we all met, Warchief," Tyrande said, smiling a bit wryly. "I am glad that you accepted our request to celebrate with you."

"And I am glad that you offered it, High Priestess," Thrall replied. He didn't for a moment let his tension show, even though he felt a strong urge to throw Vol'jin a warning glare. "It is proof of good will I admit did not dare hope for."

The words were pregnant, and many a breath was held as Tyrande slowly nodded.

"Let us not speak or think of such things," she said, her smile new and more genuine than before. "This is a wedding celebration. Both of you have my deepest well wishes."

"Thank you, High Priestess," Jaina said, as Thrall nodded agreement. "Your support is a welcome, precious thing."

And still, both of them noticed that the night elves avoided looking at most of the other groups there as they walked over to their places and sat down.

Jaina clenched her teeth, as next Thrall asked Lady Sylvanas and her followers forwards. The stench rose over the incense as the undead moved forwards, but Jaina willed herself to keep her face calm. She had been face to face with Sylvanas just the other day, and then been so upset that she could hardly think straight.

As she offered a brisk congratulation, Sylvanas' lips pursed into something resembling a smile. She looked as if she could not be bothered to remember how to smile genuinely, or rather did not care for it. Her expression did not change as she turned swept away, smelling of decaying leaves and old, murky chambers, her guards clattering after her.

The blood elves were just a little less curtly – Lor'themar Theron did weave an elegant little speech, but when it came down to it, it said very little. At that point, also, Jaina was struggling not to chew on the inside of her cheek, and she heard Thrall shift his weight ever so slightly.

The blood elves finally stepped aside.

The draenei moved forwards.

All of them elegantly bowed, but it was one of the male shamans who spoke.

"Lady Proudmoore. Warchief."

There was no question of which greeting carried the most weight. Jaina bowed her head, but she remained silent for Thrall.

"That you are here is a gesture of hope," he said, his voice warm and calm. However, Jaina felt his fingertips brush against her back momentarily. He was struggling not to go to pieces, and she could offer no support. "I truly thank you for bridging this gap, this distance, to be here tonight."

"It was you and your wife who showed that it could be bridged," the shaman said. The draenei all straightened. "Prophet Velen was very moved by what transpired a week ago, and what you have done since."

He paused. Thrall hardly breathed.

"If you would allow it, honored Warchief, we request you let a magical link be momentarily established." The shaman motioned towards the female draenei in a blue, richly embroidered mage's robe. "We are mere messengers."

Murmurs rose all over the room.

Jaina could not stop herself from glancing at Thrall. Though he watched the draenei with a composed face, she saw his lips twitch – it was the only sign of emotions he allowed to show right then.

"I see that as a generous offer and welcome it," he said.

"We thank you for your faith, honored Warchief." With those words, the shaman stepped back.

The mage stepped forwards instead, delicately putting her fingertips together and bowing her horned head above them as she murmured in a low voice. The rune floating above her forehead flared up as light danced between her palms, and with a soft cry she flung her hands upwards. The light leapt from her fingers to the ground, forming a glowing circle.

It was eerily reminiscent of what the undead mage had done two days ago, moments before the Lich King attacked. Alike, yet it could not have been more different.

From the light rose a figure, swatted in a pale, beautiful robe. Graceful tendrils framed his thick, pure white beard which in turn mirrored the color of the pure rune floating above his forehead. A long, elegant tail curled out along the hem of his robe and the edge of the magical circle surrounding his cloven hooves.

Jaina looked up, and so did Thrall. And higher up yet. Complete silence fell over the hall.

Prophet Velen was tall enough to be imposing, but there was a sense of peace about him which invoked only calm.

"Warchief. Lady Proudmoore," he said, inclining his head slightly.

Jaina bowed her head in greeting back, but she remained silent still. This was Thrall's, and the entire orc race's, moment. She happened to see Saurfang from the corner of her eye. The Overlord sat stock still, his eyes a breath wider than usual.

"Prophet," Thrall said, bowing his head. "I am honored that you grace Orgrimmar with your presence, even through a fragile bond like this."

Not even he could keep a sliver of emotion from his voice, however slight. "Honored" was a mere shadow of the wonder this gesture truly was. It was not a promise of peace, of forgiving. The crimes of the past were too great still. But it was a sign that there was a possibility, beautiful and real, and that was more than anybody could have dared hoping for.

"I fear it would have been too divisive still of me to take part in this celebration in person," Velen said. He smiled, the knowing twitch in the corner of his lips saying that he was aware Thrall and most everyone else caught the promise in that simple word, 'still.' "But, I am glad that I could offer my best wishes to you on this day, and I wish you all a joyful evening." He swept his gaze across the hall as he spoke, but as he continued, he looked straight at Thrall again. "We shall speak at length at a later date, Warchief."

"I welcome that, honored Prophet," Thrall said, bowing his head once again.

His glowing eyes slipping shut, Velen returned the gesture. And with that, his image faded away as the magic circle dissolved.

Intense, whispered conversations erupted from all corners of the hall, completely ignoring the draenei bowing and heading over to sit down. They ceased only momentarily as Thrall and Jaina stepped down from the stair to stand on the wolf skin laid out directly aligned with the throne. Thrall raised his voice, calling immediate silence.

"I am not even going to pretend hoping that there will be no disagreements with these many factions represented here tonight. So when the inevitable happens and you start arguing with somebody, do the civilized thing and take it to the Ring of Valor. That's the training arena, for those of you who visit for the first time."

He said it with enough lightheartedness that it earned a few laughs, even though some were more nervous than the others. That set the bar for what level of nonsense would be tolerated.

Smiling still, Thrall sat down together with Jaina. With that, the celebration finally got started.

While everyone began to settle down and food was served, a troll and a human in dark armor were let inside of the throne room after speaking with the guards. The two of them moved along the wall, earning a few glances but as the guards let them pass they were largely ignored. Over where the humans were seated, however, emissary Southstone caught sight of the two and followed them with his gaze as they moved closer.

As they reached the back of the humans' assembly, the troll muttered something to the smaller man, who answered in a low voice. They nodded to each other, then the troll continued towards his own people, where he joined the guards standing behind them. The human, on the other hand, stepped forwards and sank down on the empty space beside Thomas.

He took off his helmet and placed it on the floor, running a hand through his sand blond hair and smiling faintly.

"Sorry I'm late," Collins whispered.

"I was getting worried," Thomas said in a low voice.

Collins smiled a little wider and made a small motion towards the trolls.

"I had a friend keeping me company," he said. "There was nothing to worry about."

Though he nodded and was about to leave it at that for the time being, Thomas paused when he noticed that something was off with Collins' leather armor. At his sides and from the look of it also on his back, the material was darker than the rest. This was also the case with most of the protective gear on his arms and shoulders. That had not been so before, as far as Thomas remembered.

"What happened with your armor?" he asked.

In a flash, Collins' face was blank and strict.

"I fell in the lake," he said, his voice neutral.

"Fell in the lake?"

"Yessir."

Thomas opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

"It's fine," Collins said. "I dried pretty quickly in the sun."

For a moment Thomas closed his eyes, then he just shook his head and motioned for Collins to help himself from the big plates of bread and meat. At a better time, there could be questions. Maybe, if the paladin decided that he actually wanted to know.

Thrall waited for a while before he started to carefully relax, making sure that the dinner was getting going in a civilized manner. The placing of each group ensured that insults flung at an opposing side should be heard across the entire room – for better or worse – but at least for now, it remained peaceful. At first, the conversations remained within each group itself, but it didn't take long before those of the same main world faction turned to their nearby allies.

This gently broke when a draenei turned to a tauren sitting within speaking distance and politely addressed him. The horned head turned and big, calm eyes watched the draenei for a moment. Then the tauren spoke.

They were far too far away for Thrall to hear a single word, but the curious expressions of both men spoke enough. Either the tauren knew Common or the draenei Orcish; either way, they did not seem to have any troubles communicating. Very soon, the people sitting closest to them noticed what was going on and leant in to either listen or take part in the conversation.

It continued in the same vein – no voice rose over another in anger.

Thrall heard Jaina breathe out, and when he glanced at her she met his gaze and smiled in relief. He nodded, smiling back although both of them knew that this hardly guaranteed that the rest of the night would run along as smoothly. But it was a very good beginning.

Allowing himself to feel a little bit more at ease, Thrall raised his goblet of wine and tapped it against Jaina's as she held up her own. Still, both of them only drank a little bit, with no intention of emptying more than one goblet.

As the dinner continued without incident, Thrall finally sighed inwardly, sent a silent prayer to the spirits, then looked up and signaled at the guards at the door. One of them saluted and slipped out.

He couldn't hold it off any longer, and it filled him with a vague sense of dread. Which, in turn, made him feel guilty. He couldn't help it, though.

"I truly hope that it wasn't a bad idea to let Vol'jin busy himself with the entertainment," he muttered to Jaina.

She lowered the slice of meat she had been taking bites from and swallowed.

"Do you really think he has planned something?" she asked, frowning.

"No, no, nothing like that." Thrall glanced at the door. The guard had returned, and outside a group of trolls were lining up in the torchlight. "But I don't put it past him to have some mischief in mind."

Jaina started to say something else, but a deep, dry note flowing through the air cut her off. The discussions all over the room died down and people looked around towards the door. A troll woman dressed in a white robe entered, walking slowly while playing a long, wooden flute. White and pink flowers had been braided into her teal hair, and though she walked carefully there was a faint sound of clattering beads for every step she took.

Four men of her kind followed her, each of them carrying a small drum under one arm. Halfway into the room they took a synchronized turn and sat down in two pairs on the floor, setting the drums between their knees.

The woman continued to the middle of the floor, where she stopped moving but kept playing. Each note was long, soft, the sound like that of the wind blowing through the hollows in a mountain and bearing little resemblance to the crisp sound of a metal flute.

One of the drummers began a slow rhythm, weaving it into the flute's music.

Another troll man stepped into the room, shirtless but wearing pants as well as a sweeping loincloth. Each one of his steps and little motions corresponded to the sound of the drum as he moved. He sidestepped, circled outwards but always kept his eyes on the woman and always moved towards her albeit slowly. The rhythm changed, the others joined in to build up a slow crescendo. The man reached the end of his half circle motion, walking straight towards the woman with cautious movements, always following the drums. She kept playing, ignoring him even as he slowed and kneeled in front of her.

One last slow note from her flute and the drums stilled. She lowered her instrument and looked down at the man before her. The silence invited clapping, but the expectant tension did not.

Another beat began, low at first but rising as the woman reached up and pulled a single pink flower from her hair. The moment she dropped it into the man's outstretched hands, all four drummers slapped down on the drums with a powerful thump. More than one person in the audience gave a start.

To the sound of the drums, ten more trolls of both sexes marched in while the first couple remained still as statutes – only one motion or step for each beat of the drums. It was not quite walking and not quite dancing, but somewhere in between. The men were all dressed like the first male dancer, except their clothes were a little darker brown. The women wore slanted grey skirts and just well enough matching cloth over their chests to keep them from being immodest.

The woman in the robe flicked her whole arm, and the flute spun backwards through the air only to be caught by one of the approaching men. He in turn threw it further back without looking, to a woman at the end of the line who tossed it to one of the drummers.

Sharp teeth gleaming in the light of the torches, the first woman shook off her robe to the sound of rattling beads.

Suspicious of Vol'jin as he still felt, Thrall tensed the moment the robe began to fall – but the lead female dancer wore just the same clothes as her sisters, only in a lighter hue. Strings of beads clashed and clattered around her neck, arms, waist, the sound melding into the rhythm of the drums.

She made a few slow, lazy motions with her arms, while her male counterpart ducked around her and kicked the robe aside – all gracefully, to the beat. The others spread out, the women mimicking the motions she made.

They paused, a moment of silence as the first male dancer handed the pink flower to one of the other women.

The beads around the woman's waist clattered, no others, and she winked at Vol'jin.

Another clatter, and this one did not end. It rose and fell in waves, matching not only that one woman's movements, but all the trolls'.

An entrancing chaos followed.

The women stayed in one place, their arms enough to transfix the audience with their graceful, slithering motions. Their bodies moved as if no part was linked to another – when their hips swung, everything above that hardly moved at all and vice versa. All alluring smiles and gazes blazing over the audience.

And meanwhile, the men were all over the place. Far from elegant, but there was a certain majesty about the way their gangly arms and legs swept about. They sidestepped, leaped, spun – and somehow, no matter how radically different their dances were, the men's movements matched the women's. Throughout all this, that one pink flower wandered from hand to hand, sometimes thrown and sometimes carefully passed on, always through skill or wonder avoiding to get ruffled.

The mind boggled for the first few moments of watching the dancing, until one managed to see how it all remained aligned to the sound of the drums. A low sweeping kick along the floor corresponded with a twist of an arm, a swing of the hips matched a leap.

That first man remained close to the first woman, moving around her in wider or smaller circles. The two of them stayed in the front center, their hands touching occasionally as he whirled past close enough.

All of a sudden he moved back, closer to the other dancers, and the flower finally found its way back to his hand. Again he spun outwards, towards a certain part of the audience–

With a flick of his wrist he sent the flower flying through the air, and it would have landed in Tyrande's lap had she not snatched it between two fingers as it came towards her. She turned her silvery eyes at the troll with a long eyebrow rising.

He bowed at her, smirking, and backed into the whirling crowd of dancers.

Vol'jin caught the look Thrall threw his way, and innocently waved his hands. The Warchief was about to growl in exasperation, when he felt Jaina's fingers tapping his arm. As he looked at her she nodded towards the night elves, lips twitching.

Under the hesitant looks of her guards, and ignoring the snickers from all over the room, Tyrande turned the flower over in her hands a few times. Then she shrugged and, with a smile that bordered on a tiny smirk, stuck the flower behind her right ear.

This would have been a perfectly graceful handling of the situation, if the trolls had just let it die right there. Instead, the male main dancer leaped forwards again and threw a kiss at the High Priestess with very pronounced wink, before returning to the dance without a hint of losing his rhythm.

Large parts of the audience dissolved into laughter and thankfully, after a moment of looking caught between amusement and annoyance, so did Tyrande.

She might have been pacified thanks to a glance to the side, and the sight of the Warchief leaning forwards with his face in one hand. Beside him, Jaina could not hold back her laughter, although she contained it to soft chuckles.

Vol'jin, though mainly concerned with laughing at the night elves, cast a look at the two leaders. Seeing Jaina shake with her mirth, the aging troll actually grinned wider despite himself. Although uncertain about whether or not he felt disappointed (childish as he could admit that was) at Tyrande's reaction, he found himself feeling pleased at seeing the human mate of the Warchief take the joke so well.

It was strange. It had been exceptionally silly, but it helped. After that, everyone seemed to be far too amused to even think about being tense. As the evening wore on – with far more restrained troll singing and dancing – no arguments broke the peace. The drinking was kept at a reasonable level, aided by the servants alternatively bringing fruit juice and wine.

Well into the night Thrall finally declared the celebration to be over, and he and Jaina thanked everyone for being there. Tactfully, both of them didn't bring up the lack of fighting – the lack of that spoke for itself. One by one, the visiting groups left – whether to sleeping quarters provided inside Orgrimmar, or teleporting to Theramore.

It was a miracle, in no small way.

Even if the official celebration was over, Orgrimmar kept going. One could not expect a city like that, especially full of goblins and trolls, to let a good party end before daybreak. Standing by the window together with Thrall in his chambers, Jaina listened to the sounds of laughing and music from below. The moons shone down over the cliff sides, but the city was alive with bonfires and dancing bodies.

She expected Theramore was very much the same in that moment, defiantly joyful about something so strange as a human noble marrying the Horde Warchief.

Neither one of them spoke. There was too much relief for that. Too great the euphoria.

Jaina leaned against Thrall and he drew her in, their warmth mingling and merging.

It was a miracle.

They stood together for a moment longer, before Jaina reached out and closed the shutters, closing out the cold moonlight and the dancing illumination from below. The rest of the night was theirs alone.


	17. Epilogue I

The sun rose above the horizon, signaling another tense day for the soldiers of Tiragarde Keep. However, on this morning the guards in the towers ran to report the sighting of Kul Tiras sails. The news bolted through the Keep, electrifying weary souls and drawing every last man and woman towards the towers, walls and windows, desperate to catch a glimpse of this sudden hope.

The air only grew more feverish as indeed, the sails grew closer. Five ships in total, coming closer by the minute. Speculations ran wild on how many soldiers there could be to bolster the ranks in the Keep, if the Grand Admiral Daelin Proudmoore was arriving personally after so long. News had been so scarce, they had heard that he was long dead but many had still refused to believe that.

For the first time in years, they had hope. So much, in fact, that the lookouts failed to note that on the horizon were also blood red sails bearing the Horde symbol.

On board the ships gliding towards the Durotar shore, the atmosphere was much more grim and subdued.

Tandred stood at the helm of the ship The Morning Stride together with Captain Mishan Waycrest, grimly surveying the harsh land and the crumbling Keep.

It had been a tense journey, made even tenser when the Horde warships had appeared as the Kul Tiras ships neared Durotar. They did not approach, however, always staying only within sight. The Warchief had apologized to Tandred, yet the Grand Admiral understood. Letting Alliance ships into orcish waters without some kind of security was not something that Thrall could ever allow.

After this tense journey, there was only unsavory business to take care of.

The ships were steered as close as the depth of the ocean allowed, and the anchors weighed. On the beach, the soldiers were lining up with their commanders. There were so few of them, for a fortress of that size. From this distance Tandred couldn't tell the state of their armor, but he strongly suspected that nothing they owned was in prime condition.

They expected reinforcements.

Setting his jaw, he looked to a female mage standing by behind him and signaled to her to strengthen his voice. Once he knew that he would be heard, he turned back towards the shore and drew in a deep breath.

"I am Lord Admiral Tandred Proudmoore of Kul Tiras." The magic empowering his voice made it easier to find a commanding tone. "Soldiers of Tiragarde Keep, you are encroaching on land belonging to the orcish people. I hereby order you to leave the Keep and board these ships to return to Kul Tiras."

There was a moment of frozen disbelief before all hell broke loose on the beach.

The order amongst the soldiers broke up in disbelieving shouts. The commanders did nothing to calm their men, furious protests on their lips as well. In this harsh, inhospitable land discipline had been worn down until only a fanatic quest to destroy all who opposed them remained. With their hope for aid renewed and then so quickly crushed, rage could be the only response.

Tandred watched as the lines fell apart, as fists were shaken in his direction. Even at this distance, and with the wind blowing the other way, he could tell without hearing what they were yelling. Insults towards him, calling him an usurper, a traitor, an orc lover, a stain on his father's memory – as bad as the stain his filthy sister had already caused. Glancing aside, he saw Mishan, her jaw set tight and her short locks of hair tussled in the wind above her hard eyes. There was a little bit of sadness there, pity for the people who were so far gone into their own hopeless battle that they saw only enemies. Like the Scarlet Crusade half a world away.

He felt the same stitch of pity. There couldn't be more than one hundred and fifty soldiers, and their numbers must have been thinning monthly if not weekly. Still they clung to the ruins with the conviction that they were righteous and would prevail. Foolishly angering the orcs and trolls who simply wanted to live in peace in their new land, trying the patience of an overwhelming force just behind the next few hills.

And when it came down to it, surrounded and without ships they had had no way to leave, either. Looking at them now, they were far beyond the time where they even could accept this chance to go home. They had struggled for so long, clinging to this place with frantic pride and despair. Suddenly finding that everything they had suffered had been for nothing, was unbearable.

He knew then, that Thrall had truly been as merciful towards these poor abandoned souls as he could have been, perhaps for longer than he should have. The time for letting this madness continue was past.

Perhaps some could find peace once they were returned home, even if he would have to put them on trial – for the resistance they were about to put up, at least. Everyone would know it was a farce, but it would be even more of a farce if he had them accused and tried for encroaching on friendly land. Neither the Alliance nor his own people could be expected to accept that yet.

He raised a hand, signaling to a man down on the deck. The soldier stepped forwards, two red flags in his hand, and raised them to send the signal to embark and gather the Tiragarde troops. Boats were immediately dropped into the water from all the ships, soldiers climbing into them to make it inland. At the sight of this, the last shreds of order dissolved amongst the men and women of the Keep. Some started towards the ocean to fight the invaders, some fled towards the crumbling stone walls to better hold their ground. The commanders who managed to keep their heads cool shouted for everyone to head for the Keep, but with all the turmoil they were only heeded by those standing close enough to hear and care.

In the end, though, it was useless.

At another wave of the signal flags a flock of gryphons rose from the furthest ship, soaring above the water, the beach and the Tiragarde soldiers. Bolts of blue arcane light rained down over the mutinous troops, splattering into pools of ice as they hit the ground, trapping feet and causing many who were not caught to slip. Other men and women disappeared in puffs of smoke, and confused sheep staggered around in their stead.

The airborne mages' assault shattered what little remained of the morale and clear thinking of the Tiragarde soldiers. By the time the Kul Tiras soldiers arrived on the shore, there was little left to subdue. Even so, it was not a peaceful takeover. Many of those who did not violently fight back still shouted and cursed at every turn, offering no help and having to be dragged to the boats.

The sun was at its highest as Tandred finally felt ready to order a search of Tiragarde Keep. Prisoners were still being brought onboard the ships, but enough of his soldiers were free to enter and turn the fortress' insides upside down.

Following another command, one of the mages urged his gryphon to fly high above the towers of the Keep. Once he himself could see the distant Razor Hill he set off a flare of pure arcane magic, to alert those who had waited for a signal.

As the last resisting soldiers who had been hiding inside Tiragarde were dragged out along with what little belongings had been scrounged up, the first dozen wolf riders crested the hills. They were Kor'kron Elites, followed by orc shamans on yet more wolves, as well as trolls riding on raptors. All in all, their numbers were greater than that of the soldiers that had clung to Tiragarde.

At the front line was an imposing orc in dark, copper-lined armor, and alongside him rode a human woman in a white and purple dress. She stuck out amongst the much bigger people around her, yet looked perfectly at ease in her strange company.

Other scattered Horde members followed, but obviously not part of the Warchief's assembled troops they stayed further away to simply watch the spectacle.

The last thing the Kul Tiras soldiers did before they vacated the fortress was to take axes to the gallows at the center of the Keep. They quickly had them torn down and the hacked up remains were dragged to the entrance of the main building.

Tandred, together with a group of elite soldiers acting as his guard, waited for the approaching Warchief and Jaina as the small army reached the shadows of the still standing walls.

"With well wishes for your marriage," Tandred said in a low voice as his sister and her husband dismounted their wolves.

Jaina pursed her lips in a grim smile, while Thrall's mouth twisted around his protruding tusks. It took a moment for Tandred to conclude that the Warchief was silently expressing what he himself felt – distaste that it must be done, but knowing that it had to be.

"I am grateful, Admiral," Thrall said in a low rumble.

Tandred bowed his head slightly, guiltily relieved for a chance to look the other way. He still struggled to accept it all. Part of him was at peace with it, especially whenever the Warchief's cordial nature was proven again and again. Yet, whenever Tandred actually looked at the huge orc, his mind was invaded by unpleasant thoughts of his sister kissing those thick, green lips and those enormous, black-nailed hands touching her face.

He wrestled the mental images away and nodded to Jaina. In response, she discreetly waved her hand. For a moment her fingers glowed and she nodded back. As he spoke again, Tandred's voice once more boomed out to be heard by everyone gathered there.

"This fortress was built as a declaration of war from the last Grand Admiral of Kul Tiras. This land belongs to the Horde, and I have no right to exercise authority in it. Even so, as the keep was built by soldiers of Kul Tiras, as the current Grand Admiral I give my full permission for it to be destroyed."

He swept his hand out towards the crumbling walls.

"My soldiers have sought through the fortress for any remaining rebels or possible prisoners. To solidify that this is done thoroughly, however, I ask that the orcish Warchief let his own men search the grounds to ascertain that there is nobody left inside."

Thrall gave the signal, and several of the Elites and shamans headed towards the Keep.

To the relief of everyone involved, the orcs and trolls returned with reports of nothing. There had been no Horde prisoners found, though there would always be the knowledge that many young, foolish warriors had disappeared while probably trying to put a dent in the human settlement.

Tandred, along with his soldiers, returned to the ships. Their part in the Grand Admiral's unusual wedding gift was complete.

The Keep had been cleared out by Alliance soldiers, by command of an Alliance grand commander. It could still be used as a claim that the destruction was a declaration of war – however, not as smoothly as it would have been if the Horde had attacked and leveled it on their own.

And leveling it was all that was left.

Once sure that nobody was still standing too close to the Keep, Thrall and Jaina exchanged a nod. She stepped forwards, raising her staff high in the air. Flames flared up around her hands upon her command and shot forwards across the barren court, exploding into the remains of the gallows. It was arcane fire only until it bit into the paper dry wood.

Thrall spread his hands, calling out a prayer to the spirits of fire. A flaming roar answered him as the spirits heeded him and the fire stormed over the wood, spreading inside the building. Dancing fire elementals flared into existence as behind Thrall, a mighty choir of voices echoed his words. They spread through the Keep, consuming anything that could burn.

Under the intense heat, rocks shattered and walls cracked. The ground rumbled as the second wave of calls rang out, beseeching the earth itself to help destroy what did not belong in this land. Already faltering walls rattled and fell apart, as stone elementals rose and began pounding away.

The black smoke rose high above the rocky ground and the ocean, roaring as it raged through the ruins. Aided by the shamans the fire spirits let loose all their power.

Thrall did not like it. Yes, it had to be done, and when it came down to it, this was the most peaceful way it could have been resolved. He was eternally grateful that Tandred had offered to help taking care of this sore spot on the orc and troll lands. Yet the Warchief found himself with a disturbing lack of the relief he had expected to feel.

He looked at Jaina, uneasy with his own sense of dread. She saw his movement from the corner of her eye and turned her face towards him. Not smiling, it was not the time for that – but she offered a determined look that at least for a moment soothed his troubled mind.

The firelight rose up and sent shadows flapping about her face.

Thrall swung his head back at this sudden roar of the fire and gazed upwards. The darkness filled up the entire sky above the people outside the falling ruins, blotting out the sunlight. The smoke spewed upwards, and then a sudden gust of wind threw it southwards, with such force that for the briefest time, the cloud nearest its source was almost horizontal.

The fire flared upwards, and the spirits howled along with it. For a moment, the flames looked like a furious face, and the black smoke hung behind it like hair bundled up in a wild pony tail. It bore down on the scene where humans, orcs and trolls had just cooperated to remove a symbol of discord.

Thrall pinched his eyes shut, struggling to not sway from the intensity of the spirits' cry. He could not be seen staggering even an inch in this moment, not for any reason. Not even though he recognized a warning when he saw one.

Wrenching his eyes open again he saw only a fortress nearly burnt to the ground. The flames were dying down, having consumed everything they could feed on.

Thrall reached out and put his hand on Jaina's shoulder, making himself return her tiny smile when she looked at him. He didn't want to worry her, so he did not let her know that he drew strength from her being there. It was still such a new, and ever precious source of strength and peace of mind.

Turning back towards the smoking debris that had been Tiragarde Keep, a scowl dug into his forehead though he managed to keep the defiant snarl inside.

Come what may. They would face that, too.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An entire story focused on romance, over 200 pages, and nobody said "I love you" even once. Ahahaha! They said I was mad, you know…


	18. Epilogue II

Lady Vashj could tell that her personal guards were not at ease, although they kept their complaints to themselves. She could not blame them, for the air in Tempest Keep held a metallic, burnt stench that seemed to dig into her scales, dehydrating her. Arcane bolts of lightning tore at the sky outside, above the cracking landscape. Part of her was thrilled at the vast amounts of power apparent in the area, but another part felt unease at the tear of the land.

She had lived in the ocean for millennia – a world embodying eternity did not scare her. However, one could not swim in the Nether. Only fall, by the way it looked. She had no wings.

And the Netherstorm was far too dry for her tastes. However, she had been made to understand, by several increasingly frantic letters, that this was a matter she truly had to take into her own hands.

The naga were met just outside the portal by very much relieved blood elves, and Lady Vashj slithered alongside High Astromancer Solarian's hurried steps through the long, confusing corridors of the keep. For the sake of her honored guests, the High Astromancer had foregone her magical hood which normally made her face an unreadable mask reminiscent of a void walker. This in turn had forced her to apply more beauty enhancing magic, but even that could not completely hide how worn down she was.

More elves with harrowed expressions passed by, proving just how badly this whole situation was worrying them all.

Following a final turn and heading towards a guarded gate at the end of a corridor, a distant, muffled scream was heard from where they were heading. Lady Vashj tilted her head, frowning.

"Is he torturing prisoners?" she asked. She did not disapprove, exactly, but it did not seem like Kael'thas to dirty his hands with such things. Then he had to truly be beyond furious, dangerously so.

The pale, fine face of her guide scrunched up in a grimace, and Solarian actually winced when another scream rung down the corridor.

"No, my Lady," the elf said with badly hidden distaste. "It is worse than that."

The scream continued, ending and beginning again even as the two women stopped a few steps from the doors. Difficult to say if it was the same voice screaming, distorted as it was by pain. Whichever it was, it was a deep, roaring sound. Didn't sound like a human or elf.

The several guards mumbled grateful welcomes to the naga, which she ignored.

The snakes on Vashj's head obediently laid down and wreathed themselves into a braid. She knew that they disturbed the Prince even after all this time, and she had no intention to make him even more aggravated.

While Vashj focused on this, Solarian knocked on the great doors. The guards looked on with great apprehension apparent on their faces.

"Your Majesty?" Solarian called, keeping her voice neutral. "Your Majesty, Lady Vashj wishes to see you. May I open the door?"

A second passed, with a lull in the screaming, and then there was a snarl from inside. It may have been an acknowledgement. Solarian squared her jaw and pulled one half of the gate open.

Roaring, a full grown orc, in black mithril armor lined with copper, flew through the open door. Solarian recoiled, crying out in shock, and Vashj's snakes rose up with an alarmed hiss as she too drew back, eyes wide.

However, the huge thing went straight through Solarian as if it was… just an illusion. Despite its lack of matter, it crashed on the floor loudly and then laid still. A smoldering hole went straight through its chest, so large that one could see the floor through it before a flood of dark blood covered the tiles. Luckily, the magic at work could not recreate the smell of burnt flesh and blood.

Vashj and the elves stared at the thing by their feet, Solarian gasping for breath and pressing a hand to her chest.

After a moment, the naga shook herself out of it and her snakes laid back again as she squared her jaw. She had never seen this orc in person, but knew him well enough from pictures and memories drawn into moving images.

"I sssee," she said, hissing with the distaste she felt.

Small wonder that the elves had called for her help if their Prince had sunk so low as to play sadistic games with illusions. Such things amused their Lord Illidan from time to time as well, but it was not the sign of a healthy mind. Vashj really had had higher thoughts of Kael'thas.

Still hissing, she swept past the blood elves. Her tail whipped out and right through the fading image of Warchief Thrall.

Kael'thas' chamber was, to her surprise, pretty much intact save for a few torn pillows and papers scattered across the floor, splattered with ink. Judging from the splotches along the floor and wall, a bottle of it had been thrown across the room.

There was a human shaped, pink image curled up on the ground, blonde hair spilling over the dirty papers. Vashj pretended that it wasn't there as she slithered towards Kael'thas. The distaste kept her anger up for a moment longer, but she controlled it and let it fade to annoyance and then concern as she looked closer at the Prince.

He lounged on a divan, glaring at her with his head propped up on a fist. Rage and lack of sleep lined his handsome features, encircling his eyes with dark rings. His fine red robes were in disarray, and he made no move to appear more collected under her gaze.

Behind Vashj, the door was silently shut.

She slipped up close to where he was, then lowered her body on her long, thick tail so that their faces were at the same level.

"I've never seen you like this, Prince," Vashj said, lowering her voice to a soft rather than harsh hiss.

He glanced away.

"I'm sure they have informed you well enough of what has happened," he countered.

Unperturbed by his cold tone, Vashj leaned closer.

"You should speak with Master Illidan," she urged. "He knows your pain. He would help."

"It's too late." He said it dully, shaking his head. "It was always too late, they moved too quickly. We could not have amassed the troops in time to stop them in Ratchet…"

His words faded into a growl. On the floor, the image of Jaina Proudmoore curled up, covering her head pathetically as sobs wrecked her naked form.

"… and now they sit behind their walls."

"She is not worth this much pain, my Prince," Lady Vashj whispered, stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers.

"No, by hellfire, she's not!"

He shot up suddenly, clenching his hands at the trembling illusion.

"To be scorned in favor of _an orc_!"

"Kael'thas, calm yourself!" Vashj sharply said.

With a combination of quickly softening orders and careful touches to his arms, she managed to soothe him back down on the divan. He still glared between her and the illusion, but at least settled down.

"You know humans, Kael'thas," Vashj said, shaking her head. "They are foolish, frightened little things. When they've made a decision they'll defend their choice with blind pride, because they're deathly afraid to realize that they are wrong." She wasn't sure if a sneer would be a good idea, considering his state of mind, so she kept that to herself.

She motioned towards the source of the quieting sobs, still refusing to look straight at it.

"Let her suffer through all the nights she can bear with that orc," Vashj whispered into Kael'thas long, elegant ear. "That is sufficient punishment for her, until the day we can crush all of them. Then you shall have her, if you want her."

After a moment he slowly nodded, but she was not sure if it was in real agreement or just a polite way to make her stop talking.

She could feel it, if not her very eyes could have told her the same, what a dangerous blow Lady Proudmoore's actions had been. Illidan was difficult enough to deal with. Kael'thas had to stay sane, but he had already lost so much.

Unbeknownst to her, in the silence between them he listened to another voice, far deeper and more sinister than Vashj's could ever be.

Kael'thas stood up abruptly, surprising her. The snakes on her head rose in alarm, but she ordered them back down as she studied his face. Though the rage remained, the worst tension melted away under his massaging fingertips.

As he snapped his fingers, the sobs instantly ceased and the illusion on the floor froze.

"Pardon me, Vashj." Kael'thas took in a deep breath and held a hand to his forehead for a moment. "It was a heavy blow to my pride, I admit that. I have made you all worry."

"You did," she agreed, watching him warily. The change was welcome, but she was not certain that it had not come too easily. "I and your people care a great deal about you, and we hate to see you suffer. Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes. Thank you for taking the time, dear friend." His smile was charming as always, but also - as was also common for him - a little tight.

Vashj nodded and returned his smile. She noted, however, that he did not dissolve the illusion. Shaking his head, Kael'thas made a move to start walking towards the doors.

"There are, indeed, matters I must attend to," he said. "I have high hopes that we may soon begin the next step in rejuvenating the Sunwell. Once that is complete, I will have more time and means to discuss how to go from here with my people's allies."

And he grimly smiled, baring his pearly white teeth.

As great a thing as their marriage were, the Warchief and Lady Proudmoore could not influence the actions of their enemies. They could only take a stand amongst their allies. For the forces of the Burning Legion cared not a whit about those wedding vows that rocked the political world of Azeroth.

The world itself, and its defenses, ultimately still rested on the shoulders of not only the leaders and generals of Azeroth – but on those brave men and women ready to risk their lives in the everyday battles to protect it from the demonic and undead forces.

**The End**


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